


The Face of a Secret - Part Two

by SooperChicken



Series: Harry Potter: The Face of a Secret [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: ... maybe, Ancient Egyptian Deities, Ancient Egyptian Literature & Mythology, Ancient History, Angst, Animagus, Animal Transformation, Attempt at Humor, Attempted Murder, Attempted Sexual Assault, Aurors, Best Friends, Canon Timeline, Canon Universe, Canonical Character Death, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Character Death, Childhood Friends, Dark, Death, Depression, Dreams and Nightmares, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fantasy, Fictional Religion & Theology, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Heartbreak, Hippogriffs, Hogwarts, I'm Bad At Tagging, Jealousy, Language of Flowers, Lovers to Friends, Magic, Mild Language, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Minor Character Death, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Mythology References, Non-canonical elements, Old Gods, Original Character Death(s), Original Fiction, Original Mythology, Other Warnings ... Probably, Out of Character, Pain, Peril, Post-First War with Voldemort, Post-Hogwarts, Reader-Insert, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, References to Depression, Religious Cults, Second War with Voldemort, Tags Are Hard, Tags May Change, Variations on Ancient Egyptian Religion, Violence, Visions, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:48:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 125,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23898529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SooperChicken/pseuds/SooperChicken
Summary: The story continues ...DISCLAIMER: All rights go to J.K. Rowling, and the only things I claim as my own are the characters who are *obviously* original, and the NON-CANONICAL plot / plot elements. Everything else belongs to J.K. Rowling, including some lines I have quoted from the books and films (because I didn’t want to butcher the message they conveyed - some things cannot, and should not, be improved upon).
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks, Remus Lupin/Original Female Character(s), Remus Lupin/Reader, Severus Snape/Original Female Character(s), Severus Snape/Reader, Sirius Black/Original Female Character(s), Sirius Black/Reader
Series: Harry Potter: The Face of a Secret [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1612900
Comments: 184
Kudos: 264





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings!
> 
> To those of you who read Part One and its Epilogue, I welcome you back to the story with open arms! It’s good to *see* you again, and it warms my heart that you’re back for more. To anyone who has not read Part One - but has clicked on Part Two first anyway - I strongly recommend reading that beforehand. There is a lot in Part Two that won’t make sense, otherwise.
> 
> As before, I have a few things to say before you get started, if I may be so bold ...
> 
> Part Two may seem quite different to Part One, but this is mostly due to the fact that Part One was pre-written and I had lots of time to go through, write and edit it. With Part Two, I will be aiming to post at least one new chapter every month, and so it may seem to move at a much slower pace than before. Also, this work is titled ‘Part Two’ but it will appear as Part 3 in the series it belongs to.
> 
> As mentioned in the first note at the beginning of Part One, a lot of love has gone into this story so far and it has a special place in my heart. For a long time now it has been a huge source of comfort to me and I’ve been able to lose myself in it, and I posted / am posting it now in the hope that others would be able to enjoy it as I do. I will copy-and-paste my previous ‘disclaimers’ below:
> 
> 1) “If there is anything content-wise that you do not approve of, are uncomfortable with or otherwise do not like, please may I respectfully request that you stop reading.” - This applies now to characters and pairings, and the way I have portrayed them. There are actually very few characters in the HP universe that I dislike, so bashing will be kept to a minimum.
> 
> 2) “Of course, I am always open to constructive comments and welcome them but please be kind. I’m not a professional author, so there may be things I’ve missed or perhaps the odd grammar mistake.” - Same applies here; to all of the lovely people who left comments on Part One and its Epilogue, I LIVED for your feedback and I love you all so much. I would also like to use this point to add that, because Part Two is NOT pre-written, there may be more mistakes (despite the best editing I can possibly do) and I apologise in advance. As always, I will try my hardest to make this a good read.
> 
> 3) “I may have missed certain canonical events and my understanding of certain magical concepts may be slightly off, so please forgive me.” - Yep. This.
> 
> Last but not least (before you get totally bored with my obvious lack of self-confidence), I warn you ahead of time that some things in this next part are based on how the books portray events / characters, and some are based on the movies. Some are entirely of my own invention - which, full disclosure, may seem weird / jarring but I can only hope you enjoy the story and what I’ve done with it either way! 
> 
> I wanted this story to be a Reader-Insert where you can immerse yourself in being totally awesome and well-liked / loved, so feel free to melt into my offering to you of a bit of fantasy escapism.
> 
> Thank you once again for reading. All my love!
> 
> \- SooperChicken

Magnus was tired. Exhausted, even. But he would not stop. For ten long years, he had travelled the length and breadth of the world, searching for a cure for his daughter. It would be no simple matter, though, because he sought no ordinary remedy.

His daughter was dead, after all.

Magnus was a wizard, but he was not like others of magical birth. Even among the magical community, he was considered unusual. His signature ‘power’ involved Apparition: advanced magic that allowed a witch or wizard to disappear from one place and appear almost instantly in another. However, what made Magnus different to other users of this spell, was that there were no restrictions on where he could go, or when he decided to go there …

Even at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Magnus’ ability to perform this magic had not been hindered by the spells placed on the castle to prevent people from Apparating. He could disappear and reappear at will, with no ill side effects to deter him. Where others risked splinching themselves if not adequately focused, Magnus never suffered any such accidents. It had been infuriating to his peers when they were learning to Apparate during their final school year.

Thus, Magnus had been Apparating to and from every likely-looking town and city ... in every country in the world ... searching for someone who could help him bring his daughter back to life. But therein lay his problem …

The magical community mostly believed it impossible to raise the dead and so, naturally, it was equally impossible to find anyone who could help. There was, however, another problem: Magnus was always watching his back. Some people thought that to raise the dead meant to play God, and they would stamp out ‘necromancy’ wherever it could be found. As such, searching for a necromancer to help him in his mission made Magnus a target. It was not that simple, though, for Magnus had _always_ been a target.

It was a cold evening in Belgrade, and Magnus was hiding out in a Muggle establishment, pretending to drink beer in order to look like the other patrons. A large fireplace crackled on the other side of the room, and he stared into its flames as though hoping they would somehow give him the answers he had been searching for. He was so engrossed that he jumped when a man came stomping into the inn wearing heavy boots, waving a letter around like it was a cheque for a considerable sum of money.

“Magnus Castor?” he called to the room at large, in his thick, Serbian accent. “Gde je Magnus?”

Magnus rose from his seat and hurried over to the man, so that he would, at the very least, stop shouting his name. He walked up to the man, who was even taller than he was and built like a yak.

“You?” asked the man, suddenly in English. Apparently, the red-headed Englishman had _not_ gone unnoticed, even in a city of this size.

“Da,” said Magnus, trying to be polite. The Serbian man gave him a toothy grin and handed him the letter.

“Dropped by owl,” he said thickly. “Fucking weird, man,” With that, he stomped off to get a drink. Magnus blinked.

When he was sure no one cared anymore about his exchange with the man, Magnus walked back to his seat and opened the letter. It was written in beautiful cursive handwriting, penned in deep purple ink, and said, minimally: “Return to the end.” There was nothing else. Magnus read it over and over again, turned the letter around to look at the back, and dug through the envelope looking for anything else that could help him figure out where this letter had come from … but it was empty. He leaned back in his chair, sighing while the wood creaked under his weight.

“Return to the end …” Magnus whispered to himself. He said it a few times, wracking his brain as to the meaning of those enigmatic words. In the end, he could only come up with a single solution …

He stood up again, tucking the letter into his inside breast pocket. He turned on his heels and made for the door, leaving the money he owed on the bar. The woman standing behind it – wiping a mug with a dishcloth – watched him go while wondering what on earth the letter fiasco had been about, and why he hadn’t finished his drink. 

Outside, Magnus looked both ways up the street before jogging across the road. He pulled his collar up to protect his lower face from the cold, then ducked into a dark alleyway. Making sure no one was there or looking out of any nearby windows, he Disapparated with a little _pop_.

The next thing he knew, he was home. Magnus had grown up in a little village called Spindlewood Common, nestled deep in the heart of Dartmoor. He shivered, remembering that it was almost ten years to the day that his beloved daughter had died …

 _No_ , he reminded himself, _she had been killed_.

Magnus walked down the quiet, narrow country road running through the village as though with dark, heavy clouds above him. The wizard responsible for his daughter’s death was gone, but that didn’t change a thing. She was _still_ dead. He was so lost in thought that his feet simply carried him to his destination. He didn’t come to until he was standing in front of his child’s grave, alongside her grandparents’. He broke down in tears and fell to his knees in front of her. The guilt he bore was almost too much to handle, sometimes. He had spent her entire life on the run, but only to protect her. If the people chasing him ever found her …

Magnus couldn’t believe his ears the day he got the news that she had been killed. He had foolishly not considered the possibility that she could still die, even if it wasn’t at the hands of the people he ran from. Now, all he could think of was how he had stayed away all those years, and never got to know her before the end …

Behind him, the church bells rang out for six o’clock, and he whirled around to look at the eerily beautiful building. He had married his wife in that church, but his family had had little else to do with the place. Given his ... unique set of abilities, he had always feared that he would not be welcome there. Magnus turned back briefly to his daughter’s grave and conjured a sprig of marigolds for her; someone had been there recently and had laid down a bunch of purple hyacinths. He then stood and walked towards the church, leaving another piece of his heart at her graveside.

He pushed open one of the large, wooden doors and stepped inside, closing it behind him. As his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, his focus came to rest on the lone person sitting in the third pew from the front, on the left-hand side. They didn’t turn to acknowledge him, so Magnus walked up the aisle and slipped into the bench beside them. Only when Magnus had settled in did the person turn to look at him.

“You got my letter, then,” he said, with a soft, Irish lilt. Magnus looked at him and nodded unnecessarily – it was evident that he’d received the letter. Moran, one of Magnus’ daughter’s old teachers, was a shockingly pale and beautiful man, with light, strawberry blond hair, white eyebrows and eyelashes, and blue, crystalline eyes. He was tall and slim like Magnus, but he had an ethereal quality only a truly otherworldly seer could possess.

“Yes. It was you, then? Why did you call me back?”

“I assumed you would still want to bring sweet (F/N) back,”

Magnus looked at him, confused. “That’s what I’ve been doing for the last ten years … Looking for a way to bring her back …”

Moran didn’t miss the way Magnus’ voice cracked as he spoke. He nodded calmly. “I know what you’ve been doing,” he said. “And I also know what the Hounds of Nodens have been doing,”

“How do you know about the Hounds …?”

“… I’ve been hiding from them all my life. They killed my clan – everyone but me,”

Magnus’ eyes grew wide, and he stifled a gasp. “You’re…”

Moran nodded. “The last surviving member of Clan Aulane,”

“My father told me about Aulane …” said Magnus quietly. “But he said the massacre was more than a hundred years ago …”

Moran simply looked at him, but Magnus noticed the curious twinkle in the Irishman’s light-hued eyes. He turned those eyes back to the front of the church and Magnus watched him stand and walk off. “The Hounds have been hot on your tail for years … decades, even,” said Moran, his voice echoing throughout the church. Magnus noted the change of subject with interest. Moran stood at the front of the church, gazing up at the single stained-glass window with his hands behind his back.

“How did you know?”

“I’ve always known. I knew before this all began,”

“So you’re one of _those_ Hekans …”

Moran turned sharply and fixed Magnus with a piercing stare. “Yes, I’m a seer. And a Legilimens. _You_ can Apparate anywhere, at any time you please. (F/N) could talk to animals and was, I believe, a shapeshifter,”

Magnus was silent. It hurt that Moran had known (F/N) better than he did, but if not for the Hounds things would have been very different. The Hounds of Nodens were hunters of their kind – the Hekans – and part of the reason they were now so rare. Moran’s family had been wiped out long ago, and Magnus was also currently the last of his clan – Clan Lamorna. Magnus had lost his father to the Hounds when he was a boy, and with that came not only mourning but several other problems relating to their blood. Most importantly, Magnus had not been able to learn a very vital skill from him …

“Your father was Lazarus, wasn’t he?” said Moran into the silence. “I’m sorry for your loss,”

Magnus couldn’t believe he’d already forgotten that Moran had just told him he was a Legilimens. “Thank you,” said Magnus. “I’m sorry for yours. Have you ever met anyone else like us?”

Moran appeared to think for a moment. “Oh, I’ve met lots of other Hekans, yes. But none just like us, if that’s what you’re wondering,”

Magnus knew there were five ‘races’ of their people. While they all were powerful ‘elemental’ witches and wizards, they all had their own signature ‘blood magics’ and, sometimes, their ‘cousins’ could develop an additional skill more common to other races: African Hekans were the most talented seers known to wizardkind; Asiatic Hekans were capable of the sort of Apparition Magnus used. On the opposite side of the world, the Occidentals had a way with animals and could shape-shift. In contrast, the Eurasians were capable of slowing the flow of time (but could not reverse or fast-forward it). Finally, the Celts (or Celtic Hekans, like Magnus and Moran) could …

“Why didn’t you just bring (F/N) back to life, if you already knew what was going to happen?” said Magnus angrily. “You were at the funeral … It would have been so easy …”

Moran just looked at him from across the pews. “Don’t you think I would have if it were truly that simple?” His voice was suddenly much sharper than Magnus was used to. “As I’ve already told you, I’ve always known what would happen: One of the clans who have produced only sons for the last three hundred years suddenly bears a daughter, a witch who can save our people, but her father is hounded by our great enemy. I’ve seen how you’ve run, and hidden, and fought. I know it was you who hid in the Forest that year, trying to catch a glimpse of your child …”

“I was a fool. I should have known they would follow me, even there …”

“They recognised you in her, Magnus, but they couldn’t prove her blood so they left her alone. They followed you for years afterwards, didn’t they? You don’t have to answer – I’ve already seen. So, ask me again why I didn’t bring (F/N) back as soon as she died …”

Magnus didn’t speak for a moment, but when he did, it was not to ask another question. It was to answer his previous one. “They would have found out and killed you both. I suppose that’s why you didn’t send for me before …”

Moran nodded slowly. “If I called for you any earlier than today, you and I would have been murdered. Until today, they were much too close at hand. I don’t know why that changed. So, Magnus … How would you like to be the one to bring your daughter home again? Your father never got the chance to give you your gift … but I can do that on his behalf,”

Magnus trembled. What Moran was suggesting was to perform the magical ritual all Celtic Hekans should undergo when young. It would give them their ability to raise the dead … because, long ago, the deal had been that their kind must know death before they could change it.

He closed his eyes and sighed. After years of searching, he suddenly had his answer. He would not shy away from the reality before him. He opened his eyes and stared at his companion.

“I’m ready,”


	2. Chapter 2

Moran, being the last of his clan, had never performed this ritual before, but he remembered how his father had done it many years ago. There were no words to be spoken, and all Magnus would have to do …

“You … may want to find somewhere to lie down,” said Moran awkwardly. Magnus got up and obediently walked to the front of the church, choosing the floor in front of the altar. It was cold and hard, of course, but it seemed the best place for it. There Magnus lay, feeling very uncomfortable as Moran paced around a little. Finally, he stopped, and said, “I will make this as painless as possible,”

Magnus hadn’t the foggiest what kind of spell Moran used on him, but everything suddenly went dark. His body was warm and tingly, and he felt rather pleasant. If this was how dying felt …

_No_ , he thought. Dying had to be a subjective experience, and Moran had made it easy. A scene opened up before Magnus’ eyes, and he was suddenly standing in a lush, green field filled with buttercups. He felt an odd presence standing there with him, but when he turned to look, there was no one there. The wind rushing through the grass seemed to whisper, though …

He didn’t get to find out what it was saying. As though being pulled through a silk curtain, a soft, tickling feeling overcame Magnus, and he suddenly couldn’t see the field anymore. As quickly as it had appeared, the lovely tickling sensation vanished and a burning, searing pain coursed through his body instead, making him cry out.

His voice reverberated around the church. He sat bolt upright, clutching his chest and stomach and panting wildly. He was back, and very much alive. Moran stood with his back to Magnus, hunched over slightly. When Magnus’ pain had faded, he turned to Moran and said, “Are you all right?”

He saw Moran nod his head. “… Fine, thank you …”

“Are you sure?” Magnus asked, scrambling to his feet. He felt strange. He moved to Moran’s side and observed him holding a hand to his face. Blood was seeping between his fingers. “Oh, you’re …”

“It’s all right. Just a side effect …” croaked Moran. “It’s normal to suffer for our craft, but some of us get it worse than others ...”

“Here, let me help you …” said Magnus kindly. “It’s the least I can do,”

“Episkey won’t work – so that you know. I watched my father resurrect a friend of his, a very long time ago, and the resulting nosebleed was … ugly. My mother couldn’t stop it with that spell …”

“Then let me try something else,” said Magnus. He stepped back and pointed his wand at Moran and whispered a spell he had never heard before. The blood receded, and Moran no longer felt as sick as he had. Magnus then cast Tergeo, and cleaned the rest of the blood away.

“Thank you,” said Moran.

“No, thank _you_ ,” replied Magnus. “How will I know if it worked?”

“Do you feel about thirty pounds lighter?”

“… What?”

“… D’you feel all light and airy-like?”

“Er … I guess?”

“You’d know the difference if you remembered the way you felt before. Trust me – it worked,”

Magnus accepted his answer and nodded, slowly raising his eyes to the vaulted ceiling of the church. Now, he supposed, all that was left was the very thing he’d been trying to do for the last ten years.

“Do you want to come with me?” asked Magnus gently. Moran looked at him with big, silver-blue eyes and nodded. Moran may have been the Legilimens, but Magnus fancied that, at that moment, he saw something else flash in those bright, icy orbs. The men left the church and went back to (F/N)’s grave, although it was now getting very dark.

“So how old _are_ you?” Magnus said.

Moran smirked. “Old enough,”

“How come you made it this long?”

“What you’re actually asking me is, how come I never found my partner?” said Moran knowingly. Magnus’ silence was proof that he was correct in that assumption. Moran smiled wistfully and shrugged his shoulders. “I have a few reasons. After watching my family die, I was afraid for a long time to get close to anyone else. Then it became a matter of liking the fact that, if I never fell in love, I would never die …”

“Our curse,” said Magnus grimly. He did not regret his own ‘affliction’, though; he adored his wife, and together they had made a beautiful little girl. The word meant something very different to him.

“Indeed,” said Moran, as they approached (F/N)’s row. “I also preferred the pursuit of knowledge. Looking back, it was probably selfish of me. If only I had settled down and become a father myself, my clan would have survived …”

They came to stand in front of (F/N)’s grave. “There’s still hope,” said Magnus. “Why not now?”

Moran smiled sadly at Magnus and quirked his head at him. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes glittered mysteriously. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Shall we?”

Moran removed his wand from his waistcoat pocket, pointing it at the grass directly above where (F/N) was buried. He also cast the Wand-Lighting Charm. Magnus joined him and together they opened the ground, cleared the dirt, and raised the casket out of the grave.

“This is horrible …” said Magnus. He hadn’t actually thought of how he would need to exhume his daughter in order to resurrect her. “I really don’t like this …”

“I’d kill you again if you did like it,” said Moran hotly, which was most uncharacteristic for him. “Bring her over to your side …”

Magnus did as he was told and levitated the casket to the right, placing it on the ground again when there was enough room.

“I don’t suppose you’ve ever seen one of our kind, years after death?” said Moran.

“Why on earth would I?”

Again, Moran declined to answer, so Magnus resentfully used his magic to open (F/N)’s casket. He took a deep breath and, steeling his nerve, moved to the side to peer in at her …

For the first time in years, Magnus was looking at his little girl. There she lay, perfect as if she were only asleep. Even the flowers clasped in her cold hands were intact, as though they had only just been picked. Magnus’ breath caught in his throat, and he fought the urge to cry.

“Do we all do that?” he whispered.

“We Celts do, yes. And our spouses. It’s a side effect of a spell gone awry … oh, _centuries_ ago,”

Magnus couldn’t believe he hadn’t known about this before, but then he realised he hadn’t actually been raised as a Hekan in the same way Moran had. He certainly couldn’t understand the magic behind it, but he supposed he didn’t have to. What they were dealing with was _their_ blood magic, and hardly the sort of thing they would teach children at Hogwarts. He doubted if this were something their library would have books on, even in the Restricted Section …

“Are you all right?” he heard Moran ask.

“Yeah … All things considered,” said Magnus. “Well, here we go …”

“Hold her hand,” Moran advised. “You need to make contact with the person you’re trying to raise. And you know this only works for our kind, don’t you?”

“W-what?”

“If they’re not Hekan, we can raise only the recently deceased - if they want to come back, that is. If they _are,_ we can bring them back anytime. We are afforded some luxuries, but not many …”

“All right …” said Magnus. He would have to bear that in mind, for (F/N) would surely want to know about her friends when all was finished. He reached into the casket and took her hand – she was frozen to the touch.

“Now, all you have to do is find her,”

Moran’s voice faded into the background as Magnus was pulled into another dream. He was not in the lovely field from before, but a warm, cosy study. Another fire crackled off to the side and, sitting quietly in an armchair in the corner of the room, was his beautiful daughter.

“(F/N) …” he said, keeping his voice low. Something about the scene demanded it. “(F/N), sweetheart …”

She looked up, her expression one of deep uncertainty, and closed the book she was reading. “Dad?”

Magnus nearly burst into tears on the spot. He had never been lucky enough to hear her call him that, and now that she had … She put down her book and stood, but he rushed up to her and pulled her into a desperate hug.

“It’s all right sweetheart … I’m here …” he whispered as she started to cry.

“Dad … How did you get here? I’ve been here so long, and I’ve never seen you or Mum …”

“We’re not dead, baby … We’re still here. I’ve come to get you …”

“What are you talking about? _I’m_ dead …”

“I can bring you back with me. I promise. Can you trust me?”

“Yes, but … I don’t understand …”

“I’ll tell you everything when you’re better, okay? Just come with me, now …”

Magnus let her go but took her by the hand. (F/N) had no idea what was happening to her, thinking this was all some strange part of being dead that she hadn’t yet encountered. She let her father lead her back to the door he’d entered through, and was surprised when he opened it. Usually, that door led outside. It took her to the magical woodland she always used to dream of, with its fairies and dragons and hippogriffs, so that she could wander. Now that door led to a silvery-looking curtain, rippling in some phantom wind. They walked through it, and (F/N) left the study behind. Her vision went white, and then there was nothing except a distant pain in her ribs.

Meanwhile, Magnus ‘woke up’ again in the churchyard. Moran was standing by, watching intently. “Did I do it?” Magnus asked.

“Well … she’s breathing, so I would say so,” said Moran. “And look at you – not a drop of blood in sight. You’re a lucky blighter, aren’t you?”

Magnus felt as though he’d been hit by a bus. “Is it normal to feel like roadkill?”

“Well, the only person I’ve ever brought back to life is you, so I can’t speak for everyone, but my father used to talk about how ‘we must always pay our toll’. Our master can’t just let us have it all for free, I suppose …”

“Our master?” said Magnus, wincing slightly.

“… Death, Magnus,”

“… Oh,”

“It’ll come to you in time. Listen, I have an old book of my father’s, detailing almost everything there is to know about our people. I’m sure your father will have had a copy too, somewhere … It’s a sort of codex, passed down to each head of the family. It makes sense that both clans would have one,”

Magnus couldn’t understand why Moran wouldn’t just tell him what he knew, because he wasn’t sure if he’d ever even seen this book. Surely, without the use of a ‘manual’, of sorts, Moran would still know far more than he was letting on. Moran saw that thought pass through Magnus’ mind.

“We’re running out of time, Magnus, and I ... I’ve been dying for a while now,” said Moran. Magnus looked at him in alarm and the Irishman shook his head. His expression became one of mild amusement, but Magnus could tell that he also didn’t actually find the situation all that humorous. “In a … temporal sense,” Moran clarified. “Many of us have our blood magic and that of another race to supplement it. Mine, as I have already mentioned, makes me a seer. I can never escape it,”

“What are you getting at …?” Magnus asked desperately. He had a feeling something terrible was coming …

“They’re here, Magnus. I saw them coming, days ago …”

“But _you_ _led me here ...!”_

“I don’t know how they move so fast, but they do. My visions tell me this is how it was always meant to be, but how they operate is not for me to know. They’re not far away; you need to get away with your girl …” said Moran sadly. “... I brought you here so it could all happen this way … or else we would have failed …”

“Come with us. I’ll Apparate …”

“You know as well as I do that some things can be changed, and others cannot. I once told (F/N) that just because no one has yet worked out how to change the future, it doesn’t mean it can’t be done. However, these events have been _years_ in the making, my friend, and unavoidable. If I flee with you, we all die. I’ve seen the alternatives,”

“No, Fintan …”

There was suddenly a lot of shouting from across the cemetery. It was almost completely dark but for the light of the moon. Men and women dressed in blue coats were weaving quickly among the graves, heading straight for Magnus, (F/N) and Moran. They were carrying swords, and Magnus knew one of them would be deadlier than the others ... He looked at Moran for what he sensed would be the last time.

Moran closed his ethereal eyes for a moment and took a deep, steadying breath. A fresh, calm breeze blew across the churchyard as the bells chimed seven o’clock.

“Run,” he said softly, drawing his wand once more. “And give (F/N) my love, won’t you?”

Magnus wanted to rip the heads off every single Hound of Nodens that came to his village that night. As he Apparated away with (F/N), arriving at their family home in the village proper, Magnus hoped against hope that Moran had Apparated himself. With the top-level security charms cast on the house by his wife, Magnus felt like a coward for leaving Moran behind …

The thing was, the Hounds were elite hunters of Celtic Hekans. They didn’t seem to care about the other kinds. In their wisdom, the Celts played God by being necromancers and thus deserved death for that ‘perversion of nature’. They had been mortal enemies since the Celts were given their blood magic, and Magnus himself had come sickeningly close to death at their hands. They operated in two groups of four Hounds, and in each group one of them carried one of their dreadful weapons: two long swords honed to the most exceptional points. These weapons were unique in that they could kill Celtic Hekans permanently. There was no resurrection for them once they’d been taken down with one of those …

The Hounds themselves were special, too. They were chosen from the ranks of Muggles, supposedly, because the weapons only worked for ‘non-magical people’. Magnus didn’t believe that, though. There had to be _something_ about these people that enabled them to wield seemingly magical weapons.

Magnus’ wife, Adhara, came rushing into the room at the sound of them Apparating in. She squeaked at the sight of their daughter and ran, weeping uncontrollably, to gaze at (F/N) ‘sleeping’ in her father’s arms. “Oh, Magnus … You did it …”

“Thanks to Fintan Moran,” said Magnus, distraught. Had Aulane really just come to an end? He hoped not. “Addie, they’re in the village. They attacked us at the church,”

Adhara didn’t know what to say. She covered her mouth with an elegant, shaking hand and shook her head. “Is _nothing_ sacred to them?” she whispered, when she was sure her voice would no longer fail her.

“Apparently not, but we have another task, now …” said Magnus, turning back to his daughter.

“Yes …” Adhara pushed her daughter’s soft hair out of her face and stroked her cheek lovingly. She thought she would never see her again, not since she’d had to flee their home herself … “How do you think she’ll react to seeing me, Mags?”

“She’ll be shocked, no doubt. But she’ll come around soon enough, I’m sure,”

“… I hope so. Hopefully she won’t be angry,”

“She won’t be. From what I’ve heard, she isn’t like that,”

Adhara sighed and nodded her head. “All right. Let’s get her to bed …”

Magnus readjusted (F/N) in his arms and followed his wife upstairs to his daughter’s old room. It hadn’t changed at all since the last time she’d stayed there, about thirteen years earlier. He laid her down on her bed before stepping outside so that Adhara could change (F/N)’s clothes, and put her in a nightdress. Outside the room, Magnus stood thinking very hard about what he was going to do now. When (F/N) was tucked into bed, Adhara left the room and went to go and make some potions for her. She looked up into her husband’s face though, and recognised the look he wore immediately.

“Oh, Mags, _no_. You can’t go … You know it’ll be a trap,”

“Addie, I can’t leave him there. Not just out of principle, because he saved our daughter, but what if any Muggles get there first …?”

“And what will you do?”

“I don’t know … Maybe take him home to Aulane? That’s if …”

Adhara looked at her husband with the utmost sympathy. She couldn’t begin to understand what he was truly feeling, but she could at least place herself in his shoes. “Just be safe, all right?”

“Yes, dear,” said Magnus. Adhara saw some of his old cheekiness peeping through.

Magnus cast the Disillusionment Charm over himself before promptly Apparating back to the church. Apprehension weighed heavily in his stomach, making it feel like it was made of lead. He didn’t want to see what had happened to Moran, but he stood by what he told his wife: he couldn’t leave their friend. He hurried back to (F/N)’s now-empty grave and was met with a sight even worse than he had been dreading.

There was a good deal of blood on the dewy grass, but no bodies in sight. Magnus felt despair mounting in his chest, threatening to overwhelm him along with the scent of death that lingered about the place. He couldn’t believe it ... Moran was gone, and not just (obviously) dead, either ... The Hounds had clearly taken him with them, denying him any kind of send-off. He knew — he just _knew —_ they would not do him the decency of giving him a proper burial. To the Hounds, the Hekans were little more than beasts. Monsters.

_Who,_ thought Magnus bitterly, _were the monsters now?_

A scrap of blue material caught his eye in a pool of blood just beside another gravestone. He allowed himself a small, grim smile of satisfaction as he felt a tear escape down his cheek in sorrow for his friend and ally. At least he had not gone down without a fight, and had clearly done a hefty amount of damage — if the amount of blood on and around the fabric was anything to judge by. Magnus could not bear to fool himself into thinking that Moran might have got away. He had said it himself that he had seen the alternatives, if they did not adhere to the plan that fate had arranged for them that night ...

He couldn’t think anymore. He couldn’t breathe. It was not a conscious process, but he vanished (F/N)’s grave as he said he would. Magnus Apparated back to the house, feeling as though he were missing a limb. As thanks for Moran’s sacrifice, he would make sure his deeds had not been in vain, and that the Hounds of Nodens would see justice – however long that took.


	3. Chapter 3

Adhara was horrified to learn of what happened to Moran, her daughter’s saviour. She tried to comfort her husband as best she could, though, because he had taken their friend’s death very hard indeed. He was sombre and quiet for weeks after the event, but Adhara could see the joy glittering in his eyes when he looked at their daughter. The fact remained that she was alive again. Nothing could spoil that.

Nursing her back to health was no easy feat, however. It took them months to even get her to stir; such was the depth of her slumber. Adhara’s troubled mind was only soothed when Magnus discovered, in an old book of his father’s that he unearthed in the attic (the book Moran had mentioned), that this was apparently normal for the recently revived.

When she did finally begin to stir, (F/N)’s ‘activities’ were often accompanied by awful night terrors and she would wake up suddenly, screaming hysterically at things nobody else could see. It took everything Magnus and Adhara had to put her back to bed and soothe her sufficiently to go back to sleep, at risk of her spoiling all of her progress in making it back to full strength.

Six months passed and the night terrors had not yet ceased, but one bright, spring morning, she woke up and sat up in bed. (F/N) looked around with bleary eyes and blinked several times, trying to figure out where she was. The last thing she remembered was seeing her father, saying he had come to bring her back – but that was impossible. She was dead, and no magic could bring the dead back to life.

The door creaked open, and in walked her beloved Auntie Beth, carrying a tray with breakfast things on it. So surreal was the scene that (F/N) didn’t think to question it. How was it that Auntie Beth was here? And why were they in her old room in Spindlewood Common?

“Oh, darling, you’re finally awake,” breathed Auntie Beth, placing the tray on top of (F/N)’s dresser. She came to kneel next to the bed, gazing lovingly up into her pallid face. “How do you feel?”

“Um … a bit weird, if I’m totally honest …” said (F/N) in a croaky voice. “Auntie Beth, how did you get here? I saw my dad, but we’re dead …”

Auntie Beth was silent for a moment. Warm colour rushed to her cheeks and she looked very uncomfortable, all of a sudden. “Oh, dear … I knew this would happen …” she murmured.

“Knew what would happen?”

Auntie Beth opened her mouth to speak again, but the door opened once more and in walked (F/N)’s father. (F/N)’s eyes shot wide open, and she froze stock-still. What was going on?

“Oh, thank goodness …” gushed Magnus, coming over to sit on the end of (F/N)’s bed. “We’ve been so worried about you …”

“What … _is_ this?” (F/N) spluttered. “This is … _crazy_. I’ve had some bad dreams lately, and while this isn’t bad, it certainly is up there with the more … ludicrous ones …”

“What do you think is going on, love?” asked Magnus gently.

“Well, I’m _dead,_ for one thing. Have been for years. Then I had this weird dream that you came for me and said something about bringing me back to life. That’s not possible, though …”

“Just because something hasn’t been done before, doesn’t make it impossible,” said Magnus sagely.

“Wait … Have you spoken to Moran?”

“Yes …” said Magnus, stung by the reminder. “A wise man,”

“He is, very,” said (F/N) fondly. Magnus winced imperceptibly, unwilling to ruin things by telling her what had happened to Moran six months earlier. “So … that wasn’t a dream, then?”

“I told you she was clever,” said Auntie Beth smugly.

“I never doubted you, or her,” said Magnus.

“Auntie Beth … You knew Dad was alive? Why didn’t you tell me …?”

Magnus glanced at Auntie Beth, suddenly alarmed. Auntie Beth looked incredibly guilty. (F/N) was just confused. No words were spoken, and the others could almost hear the cogs turning in (F/N)’s head. Her eyes grew steadily wider, and she looked as though her brain had just imploded.

“No,” she said at last. “No … no, that’s not …”

“Darling, I’m sorry …”

“You lied to me!” (F/N) gasped. It was less of a shout and more of a squeak that passed her lips. _“Mum?!”_

“Yes, my fairy …”

“Why didn’t you just _tell me?_ I would have understood …” (F/N) began to cry. She didn’t know what to believe anymore. Her parents were alive, indeed, and none of this had been a bizarre dream. She had not been raised by her aunt, but by her _mother_ all along …

“It was for your protection, sweetheart … People are trying to kill us …” said Magnus. He was cut off, though, by his daughter beginning to sob her heart out. It wasn’t just that the ‘reality’ of her childhood had come crashing down around her, but also the fact that if none of this was a dream, that also meant …

“My friends …” she wept. _“Lily …!_ I failed her, and James … Harry …”

“(F/N), you did _not_ fail them. Harry lives …” said Magnus.

(F/N) cried even harder at the news. Her heart was overcome with emotion, and she didn’t know how to think straight. “He’s alive? Harry’s okay?”

“Yes, sweetheart …” whispered Magnus, patting her knee gently through the duvet. “And the Dark Lord was destroyed …”

Magnus proceeded to tell (F/N) about all that had happened in their world since that dreadful night in Godric’s Hollow. She listened, rapt, as he told her of Voldemort’s downfall and how Harry, her godson, had come to be known as The Boy Who Lived. The tears never stopped rolling down her cheeks.

“Lily protected him …” she whispered. “She saved his life …”

“Yes … but do you know how people speak of you as well, even now?”

(F/N) shook her head. “There’s nothing to say about me. I just happened to be there,”

“You’re the one who died for the Potters. For your friends. You died protecting them, even when no one knew you were there …” Magnus stopped talking because his throat was suddenly tight with emotion.

(F/N) paused, reminded sharply of Remus. But … no one thought that about her – did they? No, surely not. She decided to change the subject before she could contemplate too seriously the full weight of her grief and shame. “So who _is_ Auntie Beth?”

“… She’s not who you think she is,” said Adhara. She felt terrible for duping her daughter, and for so many years, at that. “Honestly, darling, it’s better this way. I took her name and _only_ her name. You will never find two sisters more _un_ alike than us. I even altered that photograph of yours so that we look more similar,”

(F/N) was immediately visited by memories of Lily and her sister, Petunia. Then, she remembered how Lily always used to call _her_ ‘sister’. Hot, sharp tears welled up in her eyes again. “All right …” (F/N) said, breathing slowly and deliberately. “So … how does this work? You can raise the dead?”

_“We_ can, (F/N),” said Magnus sombrely. He then launched into a very light, condensed explanation of what they were, and what they could do. (F/N) didn’t know which question to ask first, so she settled for a remark instead.

“That … explains a lot,” she said quietly.

“I’m sorry,” said Magnus. “I should have been there for you. All these years and the answers to your questions have always rested with me. I’ve been so selfish …”

“No, you’ve been trying to keep me alive by staying away and playing dead,” said (F/N). “These … Hounds, did you call them? Of Nodens? They sound like a charming bunch. I don’t blame you – or Mum – for keeping secrets,”

“You don’t?” Adhara whispered.

“No. How could I? It’s not like you had a choice …”

They fell into a deep, heavy silence, but it was not altogether uncomfortable. Adhara felt as though she had returned to an understanding with (F/N) that she had not had the luxury of since she was about sixteen years old. Magnus, on the other hand, felt most peculiar – he had realised that his daughter was just like him and, as such, he felt like he’d known her forever.

“… So, I can’t just bring my friends back, then?”

Magnus’ eyes were sad. “I’m so sorry …”

(F/N) leaned back against her pillow, wondering what the point of being alive was if her friends could not join her. _They_ deserved a second chance, not her. They had a son they needed to be with … She was just …

“(F/N), I know what you must be thinking, but you _mustn’t_ be so hard on yourself,” said Adhara.

“But what use has anyone for me when they could have James and Lily?”

“Oh (F/N) … You always have underestimated your worth …” said Adhara sadly. “You should have seen how many people came to your funeral … You are so well-loved …”

(F/N) wasn’t so sure about that, either. Voldemort may have told her she was unloved as a last-ditch attempt at emotional torture before she died, but she knew those were only words. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was perhaps correct about certain people …

Her parents had proved him wrong on their account. They obviously loved her very much, or they would not have gone to all the trouble of seeking a way to bring her back to life. Ten years her father had searched – _ten_. She also knew that Lily had loved her like a sister, and so had James.

Had they felt that way, though, when Voldemort had the last laugh? (F/N) shuddered at the thought, and forced herself not to dwell on the _other_ people he mentioned.

“How did people react to seeing you two there?” (F/N) asked, sidestepping that particular subject too. “Everyone thought you were dead,”

“They were … surprised, I think. I believe they were too upset about what happened to you, though, to question how we were still around,” said Magnus.

(F/N) was beginning to feel very dizzy. She leaned back against her pillows again, sinking deeper into them and letting out a sigh. Apparently, her fatigue showed because her parents smiled kindly and stood up. Her mother tucked her back into bed.

“Perhaps you should eat something and then get more sleep …” said Adhara lovingly. She went to fetch the tray she had brought upstairs, then placed it in front of (F/N). She was suddenly too tired to argue, so she obediently ate her breakfast before settling down again.

“Thank you … For looking after me, I mean,”

Adhara’s heart swelled, as did her husband’s. “You don’t have to thank us for that, sweetheart …” she said softly.

“I do … You didn’t have to do any of this. It’s my fault I ended up … _like that,”_

She fell asleep moments later, her tiredness getting the better of her. Magnus and Adhara didn’t know what to say or do. That their daughter felt so hopelessly responsible for what happened to her and her friends was heartbreaking. They left the room, closing the door quietly behind them, and made their way downstairs to sit silently in the living room. Both felt utterly lost.

Adhara picked up the book Magnus had been reading about Hekans and immersed herself in it. She figured she ought to learn as much about her husband and daughter’s people as she could, now that they were all together again. There had never been any point before, with Magnus gone and a very, _very_ good reason for keeping (F/N)’s nature a secret. Meanwhile, Magnus moved to stand in the bay window, gazing out at the front garden as he thought long and hard about how else he could help his daughter.

“What are you thinking about, dear?” Adhara asked, looking up from the book.

“… When (F/N) is well enough, she will want to go back to work …” said Magnus.

“I know, but … Mags, we _can’t_ let her be an Auror again. It’s too risky …”

“Yes, but she won’t hear of it – I know she won’t. The problem is, it’s not too risky for her to be an Auror, per se, but it will be too high-profile. One of the Ministry’s finest is murdered, and then, ten years later, she’s alive again? The Hounds will be on her like a niffler in a gold mine,”

“But they won’t know that _she’s_ Hekan, will they?”

“Perhaps not, but they will know that she came into contact with one,” said Magnus. “That’s just as dangerous. It might not take them long to work out _how_ she was able to come back, either …”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, do you remember what Moran told me? That Hekans can bring back other Hekans, no matter the length of time, but anyone else must be … well, recently deceased, I guess is the best phrase …”

“So you think they’ll work out that she’s Hekan based on the fact that she was dead for ten years, _then_ resurrected?”

“Exactly,” said Magnus. He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and heaved a great sigh. “I do have an idea, though …”

“What might that be?”

“Where is the safest place in the country you can think of?”

Adhara thought about it for a moment, staring at the carpet as she pondered the answer. “Well, I would say Hogwarts, but how could she go there?”

Magnus merely looked at his wife, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

“Are you seriously suggesting writing to Dumbledore, and seeing if he’ll keep an eye on her? Magnus, why can’t we just keep her here, and look after her as we have been?”

“Because she’ll eventually get restless, Adhara, and it’s not fair to keep her cooped up when what she’ll want to be doing is making a difference, and being part of her godson’s life …”

Adhara hadn’t thought of that. Harry Potter would be eleven years old now, at least. “Do you think Dumbledore would let her work there?”

“We can ask …”

Magnus was sure that this was the right thing to do for their daughter. She could not go back into active service as an Auror, because she would be the single most conspicuous person in their department. That would do her no favours when it came to keeping off the Hounds’ radars. Thus, that very evening, Magnus penned his first letter to Professor Dumbledore in many years. He folded it into an envelope and gave it to his tawny owl, Teak. Teak set off out the window, heading north, and Magnus slowly leaned back in his chair. All he could do was hope …

Magnus had invited Dumbledore to visit, if he so wished, but had not promised that (F/N) would be available for a chat. Still, that did not deter Dumbledore from Apparating to their road barely a day later, forcing Magnus to hurry outside and fetch him, leading him to the house through the protective spells they placed over it.

“I had to see for myself, Magnus … I do apologise for my sudden intrusion …”

“Not at all, Professor. We invited you,”

Magnus led Dumbledore upstairs and gestured to the door to (F/N)’s room, indicating that Dumbledore should go first. The man hadn’t changed at all in the years since he had been Magnus’ Transfiguration teacher, so he was hardly surprised to see that he hadn’t changed in the last decade, either. The headmaster opened the door and was stunned, although he’d known what he was there to see.

“So it is as your letter said …” whispered Dumbledore, as Adhara came upstairs to join them. He was as quiet and composed as ever, she noted, but there was an unmistakable element of shock in his voice. _“How?”_ he asked. 

Magnus gave him a short explanation, and Dumbledore appeared satisfied for the time being. He nodded thoughtfully, over and over, as his brilliant mind attempted to comprehend what his eyes were seeing: (F/N) Castor was alive and on the road to recovery from her ordeal.

Dumbledore could not begin to think of all the people who would be both amazed and ecstatic to learn of this incredible occurrence, and so decided it would be for people to discover as and when the time came. He could hardly move for shock but did manage to turn his head to look at (F/N)’s parents.

“I will see what I can do about making a place for her among my staff,” said Dumbledore firmly. “I believe that was what she wanted when she left school, even before her ambition to become an Auror …”

Magnus smiled warmly, and Adhara placed a hand over her chest. “Oh, do you truly mean that, Professor?” she asked quietly, hardly daring to speak in more than a murmur.

“Of course, Adhara, my dear. We may not have any vacancies for teaching positions at present, but I am sure we would all benefit from having a witch like (F/N) among us,” said Dumbledore kindly. “I think she, too, would benefit from such an arrangement …”

Both Magnus and Adhara knew that to be a multifaceted comment. There were many ways in which their daughter would benefit from living and working at Hogwarts, and they were thrilled that Dumbledore had agreed to take her on so readily. Although (F/N) was still asleep, and had not yet quite recovered from … death … she was making good progress, and they were confident she would be pleased to learn of the setup.

“Please do keep me in the loop with her progress,” said Dumbledore. His piercing, bright blue eyes shone with a deep fondness for (F/N), and also a mote of lingering disbelief that this had even happened. He had been among those who believed that no magic could raise the dead, even after what Magnus told him at (F/N)’s funeral. Now, he wasn’t sure what to believe, although lying before him was the proof …

“Yes, sir,” said Magnus, as Dumbledore turned to take his leave.

“I apologise for the briefness of my visit; however, I must now return to Hogwarts to begin making preparations,” said the old headmaster, with his foot on the first stair down. “I will write to you when everything is in place,”

The Castors nodded eagerly and followed him downstairs. “Please let us know if there is anything we can do to help,” said Adhara. Dumbledore smiled.

“You are very kind, my dear, but please do focus on your family. There is a miracle in your home, and I am sure you would much rather nurture it than while those precious hours away assisting me with minor details,”

Adhara smiled warmly. She appreciated the sentiment immensely. Dumbledore nodded once, with that small smile still pasted on his lips, and left through the front door. Nothing more needed to be said, but that was just as well because Dumbledore – usually a man of many thoughts – was utterly lost for words.

When he was gone, Magnus turned to his wife and gave her a funny, crooked smile. “Well, that went well,” he said, with a little shrug of his shoulders. Adhara grinned back.

“I think, even if he couldn’t have her working at Hogwarts, he would find somewhere safe for her to work and keep busy elsewhere. If the way he bent the rules in (F/N)’s sixth year – to allow her to stay at school over the summer – is anything to judge by, Dumbledore is extremely fond of her,”

Magnus beamed. He was immensely proud of his daughter – for many reasons. However, the one that was currently on his mind was that she seemed to have a special place in the hearts of so many people. It reminded him of his sadness that he had never been able to truly _know_ her before, but he hoped there would be plenty of time for that in the years to come. He certainly didn’t ever intend to leave her again, that was for sure …

Heartened by (F/N)’s new prospects, Magnus and Adhara moved to the living room to sit and ruminate on what had been discussed, and talk about how they were going to proceed. Magnus knew he would always be in at least a moderate amount of danger, but one thing was for sure: the Hounds of Nodens would not be able to touch (F/N) at Hogwarts while Dumbledore was there.


	4. Chapter 4

(F/N) was out of bed and pottering about the house a month later. She had been shaky on her legs at first, like a newborn foal, but had managed to get herself downstairs within a week. She liked to sit in the garden, regardless of the weather, because she said to her parents that the air felt alive – even when it rained. That was, of course, how she wanted to feel.

It did her good. A little colour returned to her pale face, and her eyes regained some of their old sparkle. Even her voice lost its croaky quality and became clear once more. If her parents had been amazed by how pristine she had been after her resurrection, they were even more impressed by her improvements since. She was no ghost, Inferius or zombie. She was not even as vampires appeared to the living. She simply looked well; better, in fact, than she ever had before.

(F/N) had much to learn, now that she was well enough to hear it. It had been hard for her to understand that her beloved Auntie Beth was, in actuality, her mother, and it had taken an awful lot of energy to process that information. Her father had also given her their clan’s book so that she could learn about their people at her own pace.

On top of that, though, she heard all about how, after her death and subsequent exoneration, she was awarded an Order of Merlin (First Class) – which she didn’t think she deserved – for her ‘bravery’ in Godric’s Hollow. She heard about how Pettigrew – _Pettigrew_ – had received one too, because he had “gone after the Potters’ betrayer, Sirius Black, and had been killed by him” along with several Muggles. Black was now serving a life sentence in Azkaban. (F/N) was glad she was sitting down when her parents told her these things, and that she had recovered sufficiently from her ‘illness’ – otherwise, she’d have fainted again.

“Sirius is innocent ...” F/N) whispered in despair. “I told them before it all happened, Pettigrew wasn’t to be trusted …!”

“I know, sweetheart … There’s nothing that can be done, though …” Magnus said soothingly. It didn’t calm (F/N) at all.

“You don’t believe me, do you? Now Sirius is in Azkaban!” she lamented. “And I _know_ he didn’t kill anyone. I _know_ he didn’t betray James and Lily …”

It broke Magnus and Adhara’s hearts to see their daughter in so much pain, but they didn’t know what else to tell her. Black was suspected of betraying the Potters for more than just one reason: he had been their Secret Keeper, but he also had recently argued and split up with his long-term girlfriend – (F/N). It was thought that, in his anger, he had gone insane and fully committed himself to Voldemort’s cause. Not that he hadn’t been planning it already, but …

Magnus and Adhara looked at each other, deeply confused. (F/N) was so adamant, so _convinced_ … Surely, as someone who was there, she would know the truth?

The last thing they had to tell her was about the Longbottoms. (F/N) had become numb at the news, unable to comprehend the sheer scale of the events that surrounded and occurred after her death. Alice and Frank had suffered terribly at the hands of Bellatrix, Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, and Bartemius Crouch Jr. (F/N) couldn’t believe the revelation that her old boss’ son had become a Death Eater, too. The three had used the Cruciatus Curse on the Longbottoms while trying to glean information about _the prophecy._

(F/N)’s parents did not need to tell her everything for her to know what would have become of her friends – much like she’d worked out what became of Lily …

To try lightening the mood, Magnus decided to tell her about his recent letter from Dumbledore. “You’ve … seen Dumbledore?” (F/N) sniffled.

Magnus smiled. “Yes, and he, your mother and I have a plan …”

(F/N) looked at her father in complete confusion. She couldn’t understand how such bad news could give way to good news. Her silence invited an explanation, which Magnus was more than happy to provide.

“How would you like to work at Hogwarts?” Magnus asked, with a cheeky glint in his eye. (F/N) recognised it immediately as the same sort he wore in the photograph she used to have. She wasn’t sure how to answer, though, because the question had been so unexpected.

“W-what?” she stammered, unsure of whether to believe her ears. To work at Hogwarts was what she had wanted to do, even before becoming an Auror. Now she was just being offered the opportunity? After everything she had been through, she dared not believe it …

Magnus nodded reassuringly, with a full, bright grin on his face. “Dumbledore has been looking for ways to get you back up at the school …” he said. “There aren’t any teaching positions available at the moment, but he has written to ask if … well …”

“What? _What?”_ (F/N) pressed eagerly. That was all the encouragement Magnus needed, and Adhara squeezed his arm gently to spur him on.

“Due to your … considerable talents, and the fact that you have recently returned from the dead, he wonders if you might like to work alongside Madam Pomfrey in the hospital wing, starting in September. While she is perfectly capable of managing the department by herself, she could use some help – if only to take the pressure off a bit. There are some very accident-prone students at Hogwarts now, apparently,”

(F/N) cracked a smile. “There always have been, Dad,” she said, remembering fondly all the occasions on which Madam Pomfrey had fixed her up, alone. “Is this really happening, though? Does he really mean I can work there too?”

Magnus grinned. “Yes, sweetheart. Is it something you would like to do?”

“YES!” (F/N) burst, almost as if she had been holding her excitement back all along. “Oh, that would be wonderful …”

“I guess that’s that, then,” said Adhara, with a delighted grin of her own. “We’ll write back to Dumbledore for you, and you can concentrate on recovering completely,”

(F/N) hadn’t thought, after everything that had happened, she would ever feel this excited again. She simply couldn’t wait – it was just like waiting to start school the first time, after she got her letter. She remembered how, as a nervous but eager eleven-year-old, she had promised herself she would do her best at Hogwarts, and now realised she was doing the very same again. Her parents wrote to Dumbledore, as promised; he wrote back in turn, advising he would visit shortly before the new school year began.

So (F/N) waited for the summer to arrive. With each passing day, she grew stronger and healthier, and her magic returned in full force. She helped her mother around the house and tended the garden, and even had little duels with her father on the lawn to practise her skills since they had also kept her wand safe. She wished she could go for long walks like the ones she used to take with Eddie when they were younger, but she settled for sitting in the garden and watching the clouds and birds.

When (F/N) asked after Eddie, she was saddened to hear that he had moved out of his parents’ house less than a year after her death, and he hadn’t been seen since. Magnus and Adhara suspected this to be because his mother and father had also passed away four and five years ago, respectively. They surmised that Eddie probably now owned the house, but he had very little reason to return there anymore, primarily as he apparently now worked abroad.

(F/N) began to feel maddeningly stir-crazy by late July. She was reminded by her own sadistic brain of the fact that Harry’s birthday was on the last day of the month, and she could do nothing about it for truly myriad reasons. She also remembered that it was around this time that students would be going to Diagon Alley for their school supplies. She longed just to take a peek, to see what had changed …

“I’m sorry, love, you know why we can’t go …” said Magnus sadly.

“I know …” sighed (F/N). “They’d lose their minds if they saw me …”

Magnus looked to Adhara for help, but she was at a loss as well. (F/N) mentioned to her that she recently found her friends’ letters, in a box at the bottom of her wardrobe. She had spent hours that same night poring over Lily’s handwriting, and all of the individual words she’d written. It took her forever just to read one sentence. (F/N) told her mother that if she thought very hard, she could remember what she wrote back to her best friend, but she had to stop or else she would cry. She had put them all away without another thought, and tried desperately hard to fight the urge to read Severus’ letters …

What tied all of this together, Adhara later told Magnus, was that (F/N) had realised she had no one to even write to. Two of her friends were dead. Her old (ex) boyfriend was in Azkaban. She wasn’t sure what became of the others, but she was damn sure they wouldn’t react well to receiving a letter seemingly from beyond the grave, although she desperately wanted to find out if Remus, at least, was all right …

Adhara said that (F/N) also mentioned how it wouldn’t feel right, sending letters with any other owl than Cicero, but he was long gone now. He had already been at least ten years old when (F/N) died, so another decade on top would make for an unrealistic age for a little owl. It seemed to be just another thing to make (F/N) sad.

Magnus slapped his knee and hopped out of his chair. Adhara nearly jumped out of her skin. “What’s the matter?” she gasped.

“I’ve got an idea …” said Magnus breathlessly.

“Well, obviously,” said Adhara, rolling her eyes. “What is this idea of yours?”

Magnus stopped in the doorway, looked at her and said, “Vulcan,” He rushed from the room and could be heard rattling around in the kitchen drawers, looking for goodness-knew-what. Adhara went out to find him again and found him pulling out more parchment and ink.

“Why Vulcan?” she asked, folding her arms and looking at him curiously.

“His son was – _is_ – a friend of (F/N)’s,”

Adhara stopped and thought about it for a moment. It was then as if a light had switched on in her head. “Oh, of _course_ …” she breathed, as it all came flooding back to her. “Yes, good idea! Invite them both,”

“That’s what I was thinking,” said Magnus, spreading the parchment out on the kitchen table and dipping his quill in the inkpot he’d foraged. “Gotta start somewhere,”

Vulcan was Magnus’ best friend during their time at Hogwarts and had remained so throughout the many years since. He had not been able to attend (F/N)’s funeral on account of being the only person Magnus could trust to safely draw the Hounds away long enough for _him_ to attend. Magnus knew he would come at the drop of a hat.

So it was that, little more than a day later, Vulcan stood on the corner of Oxlip Lane with his son, waiting for Magnus to come out and fetch them as he had Dumbledore. When he arrived, the friends gave each other a hearty hug and pat on the back, and Magnus took them all inside without further ado (he was acutely aware of standing in plain view of any potential ‘undesirables’). Back inside the house, Vulcan greeted Adhara with a friendly hug and kiss on the cheek.

“How are you, Adhara, love?” he said, in his usual cheeky-chappie way, and heavy Yorkshire accent. Adhara smiled.

“Well, thank you, Vulcan,” she replied genially. “And you? Would you like a drink?”

“I’d love one, darlin’, thanks. Tea for me, you know how it goes …”

Adhara grinned and turned to Magnus and Vulcan’s son, but they were already heading for the garden where (F/N) was sitting in the sun. (F/N) turned at the sound of her name being half-called, half-squawked, and baulked as her old friend came barrelling across the garden at her. She glanced and thought it was Eddie, at first.

“(F/N)!” he cried. Tears were already streaming down his face as he bundled her into his arms for the most bone-crushing hug she had ever received.

“Haydn!” she managed to choke out, hugging him back all the same. “Haydn, what are you doing here …?”

“Dad …” he sobbed into her neck. “My dad and your dad … they’re friends … Oh, (F/N) … How is this even real? How are you alive? We’ve missed you so much …”

(F/N) didn’t know what to say or do, so she settled for just hugging him back as tightly as she could. Tears were streaming down her face as well, and she could feel Haydn shaking as he held her. When they finally calmed down, Haydn put (F/N) down and paused to look at her.

“You look _really_ well,”

“Thank you … So do you,”

“Thanks, but I’ve not been dead for ten years …” said Haydn, sniffling slightly. “Oh (F/N), it’s been _horrible_ without you. We couldn’t believe it when we found out …”

(F/N) patted his arm soothingly. “It’s okay … I … didn’t realise …”

“That sounds like an apology coming on. That better not be an apology …” said Haydn, with a dash of humour returning to his voice. He reached up to wipe another tear from his cheek.

“Hey, is that a wedding band?” (F/N) asked, changing the subject altogether. Haydn noticed but didn’t call her out on it. He blushed and smiled bashfully.

“Oh, yeah … Edith and I got married a few years ago …”

(F/N)’s face lit up with joy. “Oh Haydn, that’s wonderful!” she gasped, forcing herself past the sadness that she wasn’t able to attend her friends’ wedding. “I’m so happy for you! Any children yet, or …?”

Haydn blushed even redder. “No, not yet …” he said. “We’ve been helping clean up after the war, even after all these years. It’s been … hectic,”

(F/N) made a small tut of sympathy. “I’m so sorry. It’s obviously had more of an impact than I thought, to drag on this long …”

“There have been some big changes. Cornelius Fudge is Minister for Magic now, but clearly feels threatened by anyone with even a modicum of sense, wisdom or magical ability …”

(F/N) grinned. “Haydn, I’ve never heard you speak so cynically …” she teased. He grinned back.

“Well, I guess you could count that among the changes,” he chuckled. “Crouch is now Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, but he was the one who had my vote for the next Minister …”

(F/N)’s mouth hung agape. “Well … He’s still Head of Department, but that’s a bit of a step down for him, isn’t it? Is that because …?”

“His son was a Death Eater? Probably,”

(F/N) sighed. She felt genuinely sorry for old Barty. He wasn’t popular with everyone but, like so many others, he had been through far more than a single person should have to cope with. She sat down again and offered Haydn a seat beside her. “So, tell me what’s been going on with you. We’ve been through hard work and marriage …”

Haydn grinned craftily. “They’re the same thing, trust me,” (F/N) giggled at this, and he went on. “Not much, really. We don’t see that much of people nowadays. Kept in touch with a few friends from school, but honestly? Your death took the wind out of people’s sails. It was like the end of an era, especially for Magical Law Enforcement, and the Order …”

(F/N) became very quiet. She couldn’t believe people thought so much of her. Surely it was more to do with James and Lily’s deaths because theirs happened on the same night …? That was the night Harry Potter came to be known as The Boy Who Lived. Why would anyone be more afraid of the Death Eaters with _her_ dead and buried?

Haydn told her more about what had happened after she died, from his perspective, and by the end (F/N) felt as though she’d learned a thing or two. Of course, her parents were very reliable sources of information, but she felt more enlightened now than ever before. More than that, though, she felt happier for having seen her old friend. She told him so, and Haydn wrapped an affectionate arm around her shoulders.

“There are no words to describe how happy I am to see you again,” he said softly. “I’m sure everyone will feel that way when they find out you’re back,”

(F/N) wasn’t sure about that, but she appreciated the sentiment. She returned his hug by way of leaning into his side, and he gave her arm a gentle squeeze.

“You’re going to be great, you know. Working at Hogwarts, I mean. Dad told me …” said Haydn, as if he’d known the other things on (F/N)’s mind.

(F/N) smiled and looked up to see their fathers standing at the kitchen door. Haydn’s father – of whom he was the spitting image – smiled back and gave her a little wave. She had never met him before, but he somehow seemed familiar. She supposed that was because he looked like Haydn yet behaved like Magnus, making her feel as though they had met before.

“Gosh, there’s no denying who _your_ dad is,” said (F/N) with a chuckle.

“What do you mean?”

“Look at you. You’re both tall, blond-haired and brown-eyed. From a distance, you could be the same person,”

Haydn laughed. “Except he’s better-built than me. I’d blow away in a strong breeze,”

(F/N) laughed along with him and patted his arm fondly. “You’re slim but you’re not a wisp, Haydn,” she said. “Then again, you always have been critical of yourself,”

Again, Haydn chuckled. “That’s a bit like the pot calling the kettle black, isn’t it?”

(F/N) blushed and looked down at the grass. He was right, of course, but she had far more substantiated things to criticise herself for. Haydn had always been a good guy; gentle, kind and honest. She felt as though she had reneged on a promise by losing her battle with Voldemort. She felt dirty, despicable … Haydn jogged her from those destructive thoughts.

“Please don’t blame yourself for what happened,” he murmured. “I don’t think anyone could bear the thought. Lily, for one, would have your guts for garters if she knew you were beating yourself up …”

Haydn had intended to make (F/N) smile with that, and he succeeded – if only a little. She sighed through her nose and nodded.

“As I said, you’re going to be great, (F/N). Amazing, even, and don’t you forget it, okay?”

(F/N) tried not to sigh again, and nodded once more for his benefit. Haydn smiled, and together they stood and went back to the kitchen to speak with their parents. The rest of the afternoon was spent in relatively high spirits, and (F/N) heard all about how her father had been friends with Haydn’s father since their school years, just like she and Haydn had been. Apparently, not even Haydn had known this until the day they received Magnus’ letter.

As Haydn and Vulcan were preparing to return to their homes, (F/N) perked up even more at the promise of Edith coming to visit one day in the not-too-distant future – when Haydn told her of the situation, that is. She overheard, though, how her father asked the Blythes not to tell anyone else about (F/N)’s ‘condition’. Naturally, they virtually swore oaths to keep the Castors’ secret. It would not be long before the Hogwarts staff found out anyway, and others were sure to follow but the longer the secret could be kept, the better.

Haydn kept (F/N) in a good mood by writing her letters, all the way up until the day Dumbledore returned to Spindlewood Common to check on her, and find out if she was ready to make the trip to Hogwarts.

“Miss Castor …” said Dumbledore, addressing her as he hadn’t since her school days. “You are looking remarkably well,” He stood in the Castors’ living room, and (F/N) was struck by just how tall he was. Her memory had done him no justice.

“Thank you, Professor,” she replied. “You also look well,”

He smiled gently. “I must say, when I received your father’s first letter I was … shocked, to say the least. And, at my age, it is difficult to find anything shocking. Surprising, perhaps …”

(F/N) didn’t know what to say. She supposed there was nothing for her to say anyway, because – as Haydn had – Dumbledore was merely talking. She liked that he was as incredibly calm as he always used to be. It made her feel very at ease.

“My dear, are you ready to Apparate to Hogsmeade with me? As always, we must then walk up to Hogwarts,” said the old headmaster gently.

(F/N) nodded. While she was excited to be returning to Hogwarts, she could not help feeling anxious about what was to come. Who would she reunite with? How would they react to seeing her again? All these things swirled around in her head with nothing to stop them, and she almost overlooked Dumbledore’s offered arm as she stared into space.

“It will be all right, my dear. Your father will bring your belongings and deposit them in your new quarters, and everything will be explained when we get there,”

(F/N) took a deep breath and nodded again, this time with more certainty. She hugged her parents (her mother was very tearful, and even her father looked a tad emotional), and received their assurances that they would write often. Her father promised he would visit as often as she wanted him to, and he could bring her home for visits as well.

“For now, though, fairy, it’s time to go. Have fun, won’t you?” said Magnus gently.

(F/N) smiled. “Yes, Dad – thank you. And you, Mum,”

Adhara and Magnus smiled at their daughter as she rejoined Professor Dumbledore, taking his arm and holding on as tightly as she dared (which felt very strange, given that he used to be her headmaster).

“We will look after her for you, do not worry,” said Dumbledore kindly. He then looked to (F/N) and smiled. “Are you ready?”

“Absolutely,” she replied. “Side-Along Apparition isn’t too bad,”

Dumbledore wanted to laugh but restrained himself for the sake of the circumstances. (F/N) was just as she had always been; there were a few minor differences, but her personality and mannerisms were fundamentally the same as before she died. No doubt existed in his mind that those who already knew her would be delighted and reassured by those similarities.

“Then let us be off. Magnus. Adhara,”

(F/N) gave her parents a small smile and a little wave, before everything suddenly blurred and she was whisked away to her other most favourite place on the planet. For all her insistence that she would be fine with being Dumbledore’s passenger, when everything stopped spinning her head did not. As soon as they were standing in a small side alley in Hogsmeade, she let go of Dumbledore’s arm and nearly staggered into a dustbin. Dumbledore managed to catch her by the elbow and keep her upright.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Oh, um … yes, thank you,” she replied, clearly in a daze.

“Very well. Let us make haste to the castle, then. I am sure your father will have carried out his part of the plan already,”

(F/N) followed Dumbledore out of the alley and into Hogsmeade proper. It was quiet for a Monday, with nobody else around, and (F/N) gazed all around her at the familiar scenery and shops, feeling a surge of excitement swell in her chest. It felt as though she had never been gone, but as though she had everything to explore again. It was as if it were all brand-new. (F/N) looked ahead of her as they started on the road to the castle, and saw it looming above as it always had, although in the daytime it was considerably less … imposing. Dumbledore snuck a glance at his old student and knew it had been the right decision to have her walk with him to the school, as opposed to any other mode of transportation.

“Will I have much explaining to do when I get there?” (F/N) asked as they drew nearer. Dumbledore looked at her again. In the seconds that passed between now and when he last looked at her, (F/N) had adopted an anxious expression.

“No, my dear. I have already told Madam Pomfrey, naturally, although I suspect she does not believe me. I will bring each member of staff who knew you from before to your new quarters, so you may all have some time to grow accustomed to the situation, but I will bring them one at a time. I would not want to overwhelm you,”

(F/N) appreciated the gesture immensely. She knew there would be people there – such as Professor McGonagall, Hagrid, and Professor Kettleburn (hopefully) – that she would need to spend a fair bit of time with so that their reunions were not rushed. She would not, after all, be able to give her undivided attention to any one person if there were multiple people in the room.

Dumbledore went on to explain how she would have her own quarters, directly opposite Madam Pomfrey’s, and how they would go about working on the ward together. He briefed (F/N) again on how this would allow her to work at the school and provide support to the matron at the same time.

“You will, of course, be working closely with Madam Pomfrey and she will be on hand to help you as required,” said Dumbledore as they started up the drive to the castle itself. Before long, they were walking through the courtyard where (F/N) was visited by memories good and bad, then passing into the Entrance Hall. (F/N) was caught off-guard, suddenly, by another stirring memory: Lily calling out to her at the beginning of their seventh year, and running to greet her with a hug. (F/N) turned at the sound of her voice, calling her name, and for a moment she even thought she saw a blaze of red hair …

She was gone, as surely as if she had been a ghost. (F/N) felt very cold and alone, even with Dumbledore standing right there beside her. She rapidly blinked away tears that threatened to tumble down her cheeks and shook her head violently.

“Are you all right, my dear? This must be quite a lot for you to take in …”

(F/N) turned from her darkness to the light, and the warmth of her old headmaster’s voice. “I’m fine,” she said. “Just … remembering,”

Dumbledore noticed the tears in (F/N)’s eyes and wished he could say something to her – _anything_ – to make her feel better, but he knew who she was thinking of and, equally, that there was nothing in the world that could take away her pain except for time. He put a fatherly arm around her shoulders and squeezed her gently, before ushering her along to the hospital wing.

Inside, the first thing (F/N) noticed was Madam Pomfrey bustling about making up the beds, ready for the new school year. She didn’t seem to have seen her guests, but as Dumbledore closed the doors behind them with a small flick of his wand, Madam Pomfrey looked up. She glanced between (F/N) and Dumbledore as if the latter was playing some sort of joke. When nobody moved or said anything, the penny seemed to drop and the fresh linens she was carrying fell from her arms and onto the floor.

“I-is it true?” she whispered, hurrying over to them. “Headmaster, you were _serious_ …”

“Yes, Poppy. Just as I said …”

Madam Pomfrey rushed up to (F/N) and pulled her into a hug that was almost as strong as Haydn’s had been. No questions were asked of (F/N) that she could not answer with ease because, as Dumbledore had promised, he had already filled Madam Pomfrey in on the details. (F/N) thought she should have expected it, perhaps, but Madam Pomfrey did have questions for her on healing magic and what her resurrection meant for magical medicine.

“Now, now, Poppy … I am sure Miss Castor – or, should I say, _Madam_ Castor – will be able to answer questions like that in time, but for now I think she ought to make herself at home, hm?”

_Dumbledore to the rescue,_ (F/N) thought. She was, of course, grateful that Madam Pomfrey was so interested in what she had been through, but she was still trying to get her bearings. Even after almost a year of recovery, she could still get tired if there was a lot to think about or do. She hoped that would improve if she got moving into a job again – and she still felt the odd twinge of pain in her chest or stomach that her father said was common for the resurrected.

When Madam Pomfrey let go, (F/N) smiled at her and followed Dumbledore into the next room, which was a bit like a small landing that (F/N) had never seen, with three rooms leading off it.

“Yours is the one on the left, (F/N),” said Dumbledore, indicating that door. “You should find everything you need inside,”

“Thank you, sir,” said (F/N), and moved to go inside. Before she put her hand on the door handle, though, she stopped and smiled gratefully at him. “I really do appreciate everything you’ve done to create a position for me. I will do my very best,”

Dumbledore smiled kindly. “You are capable of nothing but your best, (F/N), and it is a privilege to have you here,” he said. He paused for a moment, glancing towards the ceiling as though he had just spotted something, fleetingly. “You know, although I expect word will eventually travel to the Ministry, everyone here will look after you, and protect you from the ones your family hides from … Just as you once looked after everyone else in your life, whether they were close to you or distant acquaintances,”

(F/N) was silent, and she thought it just as well because she was suddenly feeling rather emotional. Dumbledore seemed to notice and smiled again.

“As I said, I will bring your colleagues to you one at a time so that you can meet – and reunite – with them, but I will give you half an hour or so to get yourself settled … Would that be sufficient?”

(F/N) nodded and a smile broke onto her face. “Absolutely,” she whispered. She knew she needed to meet her colleagues before the students arrived because it wasn’t as though any of them would be entirely in the loop about what had happened to her all those years ago. It would appear strange to them if they saw their teachers ‘freaking out’ over the new nurse, but she was nervous all the same – excited, but nervous. How would they react? She still didn’t know what to expect …

“You needn’t worry, my dear. I will speak to them individually before they arrive and brace them as well as I can …” said Dumbledore quietly. (F/N) had nearly forgotten that he could read minds as plainly as an open book. “… (F/N), after your funeral, your father indicated that something like this might happen. He told me he would work to make sure your death was not ‘permanent’. That day, I could have sworn that time paused, and the earth stood still while it waited for your return. I believe this – _all_ of this – was meant to be,”

(F/N)’s father had not told her this. Perhaps, she reasoned, it had slipped his mind with everything else that had happened. He and her mother had, after all, been singularly focused on nursing her back to full health. No easy feat, what with the fact that she had been dead for so long, the usual ‘toll’ resurrection took on the body, and the subsequent drains on her energy such as her grief. She decided she could easily forgive her parents for not telling her that Dumbledore might have been aware, for the past ten years, that she could well return to the land of the living at some point.

Dumbledore left her to her thoughts with a kind smile, gliding through the hospital wing as though walking on air. (F/N) watched him go before stepping inside her new room. She breathed a deep sigh of contentment and relief as she walked in, closing the door behind her. She leaned her back against it as she took it all in. The high, vaulted ceiling gave the room an open, airy atmosphere, while still managing to feel warm and inviting. The tall, diamond lattice windows were generous with the light they allowed into the room, brightening the stone walls.

The room was furnished modestly but tastefully, with a luxurious, burgundy rug on the floor, a simple bed with matching quilt and pillows, and an oak armoire, dresser and desk. A full-length mirror stood in the corner between the dresser and desk, and opposite an ornately carved, wooden folding screen. Behind the screen was another door, which led to a cosy little bathroom. Everything she needed was there and, once again, Hogwarts made her feel at home.

(F/N) crossed the room to her wardrobe and opened the doors. Inside, at the bottom, was her suitcase. She smiled, realising her father had indeed already been and gone, just as Dumbledore said. She set about unpacking her luggage and putting everything where she wanted it. After putting her toiletries in the bathroom, she noticed her uniform hanging on the inside of the folding screen. It was just like Madam Pomfrey’s: a red matron’s gown with a starched collar and cuffs, and a sewn-in apron which covered the body and was held in place with a white sash.

Just as she finished getting changed, there was a gentle knock on the door. She was just about to answer it when the handle clicked, and Dumbledore put his head around the door, giving her a quick smile. “My apologies for the intrusion, my dear. I have a very eager colleague here, who wishes to know why our ‘new hire’ is so steeped in mystery …”

(F/N) smiled and nodded. She had a feeling that Dumbledore would have a similar problem with all of the teachers who had known her before, and any explanations he could give would have to come later. Dumbledore entered the room fully and held the door open for his companion. (F/N) stared as Professor McGonagall stared back, struck utterly dumb by what she saw.

She tottered unsteadily into the room and stood in the centre, swaying as though dizzy. “(F/N) …” she whispered. “Oh, Albus, what magic _is_ this?”

Professor McGonagall inched closer and held out a hand, eventually coming into contact with (F/N)’s shoulder. She touched her gingerly, unsure of whether she would evaporate and disappear again before her eyes. (F/N) smiled gently at her and patted the hand that rested on her. She was suddenly given the impression that Professor McGonagall was using her as a support.

“Very rare magic, Minerva,” said Dumbledore softly. “Magic that I do not think we could hope to understand, even if we had all the time in the world …”

Professor McGonagall turned back to (F/N) with bright, wet eyes and removed her glasses, cleaned them on her sleeve, and replaced them on her nose so that she could peer at her even more closely. “(F/N), is it really you? This isn’t some distasteful trick …?”

(F/N) smiled again, although more cheekily than before. “Oh yes, I’m in the habit of dying and pretending to come back to life … Just for giggles, you know,”

The deputy headmistress looked taken aback, momentarily, but a smile soon broke on her face and she pulled her old student into a warm – albeit shaky – embrace. “You are every bit as saucy as your father, Miss Castor,” she said fondly.

“You know him?” (F/N) asked, hugging her back. She remembered how well she and Professor McGonagall had got along, during her school years and her years with the Ministry.

“I was in your mother’s year at school,” said Professor McGonagall. “We were good friends. Your father was in the year above – _everyone_ knew him,”

(F/N)’s smile grew wider. She knew her father was quite the character, but she hadn’t considered that he might have known some of her teachers personally. The more she thought about it, the more things began to make sense.

“That explains why you looked as if you’d just remembered something, back when those people in blue coats came to the school …” said (F/N), casting her mind back all those years ago.

Professor McGonagall stepped back and took a good look at (F/N), as though she still couldn’t believe her eyes. “Yes, your father was quite the rascal, and even more so when he learned that he could Apparate whenever and wherever he pleased,” she said, with a mixture of sternness and affection. “I don’t think there was a single person in this school he didn’t play a prank on with that little trick of his,”

(F/N) laughed, and Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore felt the atmosphere lighten considerably. To them, it was clear that (F/N) was beginning to feel like herself again. Professor McGonagall placed her hands on her cheeks and sighed.

“I still cannot believe what I am seeing …” she whispered.

(F/N) didn’t know what to say, as usual, but Dumbledore made a low, considerate humming noise to signal his acknowledgement of where the conversation was headed. “We can speak more on this later, Minerva,” he said. “But for now we must let Miss Castor rest. She has a busy few days ahead of her, but I am sure she will be happy to speak more on this when she is settled,”

“Yes, of course, Albus,” said Professor McGonagall. “I will see you very soon, (F/N). I am extremely proud to be working with you,”

“As am I to be working with you, Professor,” said (F/N) gently.

Professor McGonagall smiled. “Please, call me Minerva,”

With that, she left (F/N) to her thoughts. She felt lighter than she had in a long time (which was saying something, because she’d felt even lighter after being resurrected). Dumbledore left with Professor McGonagall but returned a short while later with Professor Flitwick, who squeaked and nearly fainted. His overall reaction, though, was one of utmost delight. The same went for Professor Sprout, who gave her a warm, earthy hug. Professor Kettleburn, who was only a year short of retirement, practically threw himself at his “all-time favourite student” and simply could not stop talking. He even began tearing up, but (F/N) was grateful for the fact that he asked relatively few questions about her ‘situation’. Like the others, she was incredibly pleased to see him and relieved for having returned to the school before he left.

(F/N) was introduced to some new members of the faculty, such as Sybill Trelawney (Moran’s eccentric successor as Hogwarts’ Divination teacher) and Charity Burbage (the Muggle Studies teacher, who was very sweet and talkative). She also met with Septima Vector, the Arithmancy professor, and they greeted each other as acquaintances seeing as (F/N) had never taken her subject in school. Mr Filch and Madam Pince – although battle-axes in their ways – were shocked but surprisingly pleased to see her again. Madam Hooch couldn’t believe her eyes for ten full minutes.

Hagrid was almost inconsolable, however. He rushed at (F/N), moving faster than she had expected, and lifted her off the ground in a hug so powerful she thought he might crush her – unintentionally, of course. He wept and blubbered that he was sorry for all that had happened to her. Between pauses for breath, he apologised for not pulling her from the wreckage of the Potters’ house, for his instructions had been to retrieve Harry.

“Hagrid … Hagrid, it’s _fine_ … You’ve nothing to apologise for. You got Harry out, that’s what was important,”

Hagrid held onto her arms as he shook and cried. “I’ve just missed yeh so much, (F/N) … It’s been horrible … So much death in one night …”

(F/N) tried not to think too hard about that night, visited though she was by sharp, fleeting memories of it. Instead, she hugged Hagrid back as tightly as she could. She didn’t know what to say to him, but held on until he stopped shaking. Once he’d pulled himself together, Hagrid let go of her and wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

“Well … I don’t know if this is the righ’ time, but … maybe we can catch up over a drink down at Rosmerta’s one o’ these days, eh? It’ll be just like old times!”

(F/N) smiled up into his hopeful face and nodded eagerly. “I’d like that very much. I’ve missed you too, you know,”

Hagrid chuckled and patted her on the shoulder. She nearly buckled under his strength. “You haven’t changed a bit, have you?” he said fondly. “I reckon yer gonna be just fine, (F/N), just fine …”

He clearly didn’t want to leave so soon, but even he was aware that (F/N) still had much to do to get settled in. Dumbledore smiled at him and his bright blue eyes promised the gamekeeper that any questions he had would be answered soon enough. (F/N) was, once again, left to her own devices and picked out a book from her suitcase. She seated herself on her bed and, since the book was one she had read many times (her blue and silver book on magical creatures), she leafed through it absentmindedly. She was suddenly reminded of Aeolus, and wondered where he was and how he was doing … She resolved to ask Hagrid if he’d seen him, one day soon.

For now, all she could do was settle in and prepare for her new job, and whatever it could throw at her.


	5. Chapter 5

Dumbledore had introduced (and reintroduced) nearly everyone to Hogwarts’ most intriguing new member of staff, and now there were only two left on his list. One was their new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, but no one had seen him yet, which was unusual because he made it a point to be seen – and heard – whenever he possibly could. The other was the Potions master, who was not new to the school but had replaced the professor (F/N) had last known to hold the position.

Dumbledore reached Professor Snape’s dungeon classroom door, knocked and waited. He knew he would be inside, preparing for the first classes of the new school year. It took him a moment, but he answered the door and stood for a moment, staring at the headmaster.

“Professor Dumbledore,” he said, in his usual low timbre. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Dumbledore smiled genially at his colleague who, until recently, had been his youngest member of staff. “Good afternoon, Severus. I was hoping you might take a walk with me, to come and meet one of your new colleagues before term begins,”

Severus eyed Dumbledore suspiciously but stepped outside his classroom all the same. “Ah, yes. I overheard Professors McGonagall and Sprout talking about them, on my way back from the storeroom,” he said smoothly. “I was wondering when you might come looking for me since you’re introducing us all _separately_ …”

Dumbledore smiled again as they began the walk back to the hospital wing. Of course, Severus was not aware that this was where they were heading, but Dumbledore told him anyway. “Yes, sadly, I could not introduce our new nurse to everyone at once. You will soon see why,”

“Is she shy?” Severus asked, a little more sceptically than intended. If so, he thought, that would be a striking contrast to the personality of the _other_ new hire.

“She may seem a little shy at first, but she has the heart of a lion,” said Dumbledore fondly. Severus took note of the affection in the headmaster’s voice. “As I said, you will know what I mean soon enough,”

Severus did not ask any more questions because they arrived at the hospital wing very soon after Dumbledore stopped talking. They made their way up the central walkway and passed Madam Pomfrey, who looked up and smiled. However, Severus also took notice of how she glanced between himself and Dumbledore. There was concern in them too, and he could not help but wonder why.

They stopped outside a door on the left-hand side in a small area Severus had never seen before. Dumbledore paused with his hand on the door handle and gave Severus a meaningful look.

“Severus, before we go in …” he said, lowering his voice to little more than a murmur. “I want you to be prepared. This will come as a shock, but I will answer any questions you have later on. For now, it may be best for you to focus on … what is right in front of you,”

“This is all very peculiar, Headmaster. How is this new member of staff quite so different to her predecessors?”

Dumbledore could see the doubt and suspicion flickering behind Severus’ dark eyes, but he could say no more on the matter. There were no words that could prepare the man for what he was about to be confronted with, just as there were no words to describe what he would face when he looked in the Pensieve all those years ago. He feared it would open old wounds for Severus, as it had for him, but his scars had healed quickly when he thought of what these events could mean for Hogwarts and … certain individuals.

“Perhaps you should see for yourself, Severus. Please also know that you do not have to say anything …”

Before Severus could ask anything else, Dumbledore turned the handle and pushed the door open. Severus looked at him for a moment, before deducing that he was to enter first. He walked inside and saw the nurse immediately. He did not register who she was until she spoke his name, and when she did, his mind went blank.

“Severus …” she said again, and he was stunned that her voice had not changed a bit. She was as beautiful as she always was, although she now looked slightly … eerie. Perhaps it was because he hadn’t ever expected to see her again. It was (F/N) – _his_ (F/N) – but at the same time, it couldn’t be. She was dead. She had been dead for years, she and Lily both. He had been to their funerals; he had said goodbye …

He knew that wasn’t strictly true. He had memories of both that he clung to with desperation. He looked out for Lily’s son, foolish though he thought him, and he had been back to (F/N)’s grave every year to give her flowers …

Severus nearly collapsed. His pale face was even whiter than usual, and he felt the old anger and despair boiling in his veins. (F/N) had died protecting her friends – and her godson, he was suddenly reminded – and he hadn’t been able to save her. He was suddenly plagued with images of her death – the confusion on her face, the pain in her eyes, the anguish … the _blood_ … It was a horrific end for a wonderful person. He wanted to tell her so many things – that he had missed her, that he was sorry, that he …

How did he make things right? He staggered towards the wall and caught himself on it, a hand over his mouth, remembering (F/N)’s death. He remembered what the Dark Lord told her before the light faded from her eyes. _She was never loved._

A lie – a _disgusting_ lie. She was adored. _He_ adored her. He had been foolish before and had chosen for friends those who became Death Eaters alongside him. (F/N) and Lily were his best friends and had been all he needed, but he was once too blind to see that. He wanted to reach out for her, to embrace her …

“Severus, come and sit down …” she said softly. (F/N) was at his side, having approached without him realising (his eyes were open, but all he had seen were visions of her death). She took him gently by the elbow and led him to her desk, and it was all he could do to walk with her. He was so taken aback by how real she felt that he nearly forgot how to breathe. She offered him her chair, and he looked at it for a moment as though he didn’t know what a chair was. Eventually, he sat, but stared at her with his fathomless black eyes. (F/N)’s (E/C) ones were soft and noticeably sad, but she could not hide her intrigue at his being a teacher.

She glanced at Professor Dumbledore, fleetingly, before moving to pick up her book, which she had left on her bed. It had been to give Severus a moment to process what was happening, but as she moved, his hand flew out and caught her hand. She froze, not having anticipated the sudden contact. His hands were as cool as she remembered, his long fingers gripping her as though he was afraid she would leave again. Still, (F/N) recalled very clearly Voldemort’s parting words to her, and these would not be forgotten so easily. She could not deny that Severus’ eyes were desperate and full of emotion, but she did not know how she could overcome the blow those words had dealt her …

Before she could think of anything to say or do, Severus stood abruptly and pulled her into a soft hug. Dumbledore had not left the room, believing there to be a number of reasons why this reunion ought to be supervised, and surreptitiously watched the exchange with gentle interest.

“You’re alive …” Severus whispered urgently. “You … I saw … _How?”_

(F/N) lightly returned his embrace, feeling unsure of herself and the situation. She was about to stutter a reply when he spoke again instead.

“How do you feel?” he asked. “… Are you well?” He kicked himself, mentally. That wasn’t truly what he meant to say, but there were so many thoughts swirling around in his head, and so many emotions ... What _did_ you say to someone who had come back from the dead, anyway? Everything he could think to say seemed so insufficient ...

(F/N) was surprised by his question, however. No one had asked her that, and it made her feel as though she had never been gone at all. It was wonderfully _normal_ , and greatly appreciated.

“I’m fine, thank you … How are you?”

Severus let her go and gazed at her for a moment. She was the same as she had been – in every way, it seemed. He wanted to tell her that he had been wretched without her, that he had needed to take Dreamless Sleep Potion every night for _years_ so that he wouldn’t have nightmares about what happened … “I’m fine,” he said. “Thank you as well,”

(F/N) could tell that he wasn’t being truthful, but jumped to her own conclusions as to why this could be and did not, therefore, press further. More things were coming to light in her mind that only deepened her pain, although she was, of course, pleased to see Severus alive and well.

“I’m glad …” she said into the thickening quiet.

Severus merely nodded but (F/N) knew there was a lot on his mind, and a complex man like him did not think simple thoughts. She wanted to help him, as he was clearly struggling with it all, but just as she was about to extend a proverbial olive branch …

“Professor Dumbledore?” a man called out through the ward. They could hear his eager footsteps approaching. “I heard you were looking for me!”

Severus rolled his eyes. Dumbledore had expected this, somewhat, given that he mentioned to Mr Filch that he would be looking for the last members of staff to reintroduce to (F/N), after Filch had seen her himself.

“I shall stall him,” said Dumbledore calmly, and with a twinkle in his eye. “I will need to bring him in at some point, though …”

(F/N) looked more perplexed than ever; Severus pitied her, knowing who she would shortly come face to face with; Dumbledore left the room, and could be heard speaking firmly but cordially with the man on the other side of the door. (F/N) turned and busied herself with arranging her books on the small bookshelf above her desk, purely because she did not know what to say to her old friend.

Severus watched as she worked, and still didn’t know what to say to her, either …

Dumbledore was, unfortunately, unable to waylay the noisy newcomer for very long at all. Severus and (F/N) looked up at the sound of the door opening again. Her stomach dropped when she saw who was standing there, looking as though he had just struck gold.

“My, _my!”_ said Gilderoy Lockhart, coming a little nearer. “Look who we have here! Long time, no see, hm?” He tried to hug (F/N), but she sidestepped him masterfully. Severus stood up and made his way to the door – there was no chance of being able to speak to (F/N) on her own, now. Out in the corridor, Dumbledore flashed him and (F/N) an apologetic look.

“Ah … Lockhart, was it? You’re teaching here as well?” (F/N) said awkwardly, in an attempt to not be standoffish. She had to work with him now, after all, even if she was bemused by the fact of his employment. He hardly seemed to be ‘teacher material’ ...

“I knew you’d remember me,” he chuckled. Severus stopped where he was and turned to glare at the back of the fool’s head. Lockhart, however, beamed at (F/N) with his usual smarmy, ice-white smile, paused for a moment, then winked at her with his forget-me-not blue eyes. He stood bobbing slightly from side to side, behaving as though he had just said something incredibly witty, but completely overlooking the fact that this was not the way to greet someone who used to be dead. (F/N) was not expecting people to fawn over her – quite the opposite, in fact – but she also hadn’t expected anyone to act as though she had returned purely for their amusement …

“You’re looking just as lovely as I remember,” said Lockhart, without troubling to hide the way he proceeded to eye her up. “I’m sure we’ll make fine colleagues – as we always used to! – but, given time, I’m sure we’ll be fast _friends_ , too,”

He snatched (F/N)’s hand – somehow managing to still be gentle – and brought it to his lips for a kiss. She was so dumbfounded that it didn’t even occur to her to pull her hand away. He looked very smug and as he stood up straight, his wavy blond hair bounced as flamboyantly as he conducted himself. She still had not responded to a single one of his comments when he spoke again.

“I’ll be seeing you around, (F/N). You’ll be seeing a lot of me, that’s for sure! Since you’ve been out of the loop for a little while, perhaps I’ll regale you with some tales of my recent adventures. I’m sure you’ll be impressed … Oh gosh, is that the time?” Lockhart interrupted himself mid-boast, glancing at the clock hanging on (F/N)’s chamber wall. “I need to go and finish preparing for my lessons – this teaching business is a solemn undertaking, you know – so much to do!”

With that, he flounced from the room and was gone. (F/N) didn’t know what to think beyond that Lockhart was as flawlessly arrogant and self-centred as he had always been. She looked at Dumbledore who put his head back around the door as soon as Lockhart was gone. Severus was also no longer there.

“... What just happened?” (F/N) asked, feeling utterly shell-shocked.

“I … suspected your reunion with Gilderoy might go something like that …” said Dumbledore gently. “I apologise for his … exuberance. It was certainly inappropriate, given the circumstances,”

“You don’t have to apologise for him, Professor. Besides, there wouldn’t be any point; he’s always been like that,” said (F/N) kindly.

Professor Dumbledore smiled at her before deciding to change the subject. “Severus asked me to pass on the message that he, too, needed to finish preparations for the new term,” he said. He did not miss the way (F/N)’s expression faltered slightly at the mention of Severus’ name. “I will apologise, also, for not warning either of you that you would see each other again. I think, as a result, he now needs some time to think, rather than prepare his lessons ...”

(F/N) looked down at the floor and nodded. It would have been nice to know who else she would encounter that day, but it was all behind her now. She felt very conflicted, now that she had seen her old friend and lover. She remembered how much she had missed him and how she had once felt about him, but her last memories — the ones from before — were still fresh, raw and painful. She didn’t know what to think.

“I can understand your hesitation, Miss Castor,” said Dumbledore softly. “Severus turned against the Dark Lord many years ago, although his past is not common knowledge – much like your return,”

(F/N) was pleased to hear that Severus was no longer in league with Voldemort, but that didn’t necessarily change anything about her feelings. Dumbledore realised this also.

“Give it time, my dear. There is a lot more to this than you may think, at first. There are your feelings to consider, and Severus simply could not speak when he saw you – as I knew would be the case,”

(F/N) nodded. She wasn’t sure that anything would change, but she was glad to have Dumbledore’s understanding. The sun, where it had passed behind some thick cloud, began to shine through the window again and cast everything in a warm, bright glow. It warmed her back, and she felt somewhat normal again.

“Everyone is pleased to have you back, (F/N),” said Dumbledore, returning to his original point. “Hogwarts is your home once more, and you will always be safe here. I have instructed everyone not to talk about your condition outside of the castle until we are sure it will not attract the wrong sort of attention …”

“You don’t have to keep secrets for me, Professor,” said (F/N). “People are going to find out eventually …”

Dumbledore smiled sympathetically. “Perhaps. The longer we have, though, to establish you as a member of staff without interference, the safer you will be. The Ministry, for example, may wish to investigate your case in detail – inadvertently putting you in danger – but if you have been working here for a length of time, it would be more difficult for them to pry you away …” he explained. “Not that I, or anyone else, would permit them to come and simply spirit away a colleague,” he added with a chuckle.

(F/N) understood – this was the same logic that underpinned everything in her life, at present. It was for the very same reason that she could not write to all of her old friends, to find out where they were and how they were doing. It pained her, but she could not throw away all of her father’s hard work for her desire to reunite with everyone, no matter how close she had been to them …

“There will be a staff meeting at six o’clock, just before dinner,” said Dumbledore, changing the subject altogether. He seemed to recognise that (F/N) was, once again, struggling to think of a response. “We will also have a meeting tomorrow morning before the students arrive,”

(F/N) smiled. “I’m really looking forward to it …” she said quietly, but with excitement twinkling in her eyes.

“I am sure you are,” Dumbledore replied kindly. “I probably do not need to tell you this, but Harry is here and he is doing quite well …”

(F/N)’s heart leapt. Harry – her Harry – would be at Hogwarts the next day. She ejected from her mind the poisonous thought that the last time she’d seen him was on that horrible night. She wondered what he looked like, and what he was like as a person. She couldn’t wait …

“Professor …” she ventured, breaking from her reverie. “Does Harry know? About me, I mean?”

Dumbledore gave her a sympathetic look over his half-moon spectacles and walked to her side, placing a fatherly hand on her shoulder. “Harry has not been told about his godparents. He does, of course, know about his mother and father, but not about you and Sirius Black …”

(F/N) felt a sharp sting in her heart to hear Sirius’ name. “What is your opinion of Sirius?” she asked tentatively. She suspected she already knew the answer.

“It is much the same, I fear, as everyone else’s, Miss Castor,” said Dumbledore gravely. He then gave her an odd look, suggesting that he could be considering another angle. “Why do you ask?”

“I know what people think of him,” said (F/N) bravely. It was the most assertive Dumbledore had heard her speak so far. “It wasn’t him, though. I _know_ it wasn’t him,”

Dumbledore’s expression remained neutral and calm, but (F/N) was observant. She saw the flash of uncertainty and concern in the headmaster’s eyes but said nothing to acknowledge it. She changed the subject again, as swiftly as he had before.

“I don’t want to hide from Harry, but I was thinking … perhaps it would be best that he doesn’t know about me, at least for a little while … I’m sure the poor boy has questions, but my return won’t do anything to put his mind at ease …”

Dumbledore nodded sagely. “I understand. I think that is wise, and also very brave of you. I was sure you would want to reunite with him immediately, but I must say that I approve of your caution. However, I am quite certain that, when the time is right, you will know when that is and when you should approach Harry,”

(F/N) nodded back, fighting the urge to cry. She loved her godson dearly, but she couldn’t just reappear and expect to be a part of his life again. She hoped an appropriate opportunity would present itself in good time – she so wanted to fulfil her responsibilities as his godmother – but until then she would simply look out for him, and protect him as best she could. As she had always done, before …

“Thank you, Professor. I appreciate your understanding, as always …” she choked out.

Dumbledore smiled. “Not at all, my dear. I will be on hand to help, however I can. He is a bright, brave boy; as sweet-tempered and good-natured as his mother but as mischievous as his father, if I may be so bold as to make that judgement,”

A mile-wide smile broke on (F/N)’s face as she began to walk with him back towards the ward, where they could hear Madam Pomfrey moving bottles of potion around. “Why am I not surprised?” she giggled, thinking back to what her friends had been like at school.

Dumbledore chuckled, pleased to see (F/N) smiling again. Once back on the ward, Madam Pomfrey bustled over with a smile of her own and immediately found something for (F/N) to help her with, so Dumbledore left the nurses to it. As he made his way back through the school, strolling in the direction of his office, his mind strayed to thoughts of Severus, and whether he was all right after the shock he had just received. He contemplated going to check on him before thinking better of it and going straight to his study. He had known Severus long enough now to know when the man would want to talk and when he would want to be left alone.

Doubtless, there would be a lot of thinking for the still-young Potions master to do, and Dumbledore felt sure that part of this process would involve overcoming a degree of anger. Equally, Dumbledore was convinced that this anger would be directed at him. He had, after all, declined to warn Severus sufficiently about the situation, and he had therefore suffered quite a painful surprise.

Still, thought the old headmaster, the way he saw it, Severus now had an answer to a decade-old question: _“What can be done for (F/N)?”_ It was a question Severus himself had asked, the day he learned of (F/N)’s death. Now that she was alive again, Dumbledore hoped that Severus could find a solution and that he and (F/N) would both be able to find peace …

He came to a standstill in front of the cabinet that held the Pensieve, debating whether to commit his most recent memories to be archived there. In the end, he simply moved to the window, gazing out across the highlands. _No,_ he thought, for now, he would wait and see what happened, for things were sure to get interesting.


	6. Chapter 6

Severus didn’t know what to do with himself. During the staff meeting that evening he, along with most of the other members of staff, struggled to focus on anything other than (F/N). She, on the other hand, was focused singularly and admirably on Dumbledore. At dinner, a single table was set in the Great Hall with enough places for every member of staff, and he did his best to distract himself from the way Professors McGonagall and Kettleburn immediately seized the opportunity to have (F/N) sit between them. Hagrid sat on Kettleburn’s other side, but talked to (F/N) just as much as the others (the fact of there being another person sitting between them did nothing to deter him).

Severus also bit his tongue where Lockhart was concerned, because the man simply did – not – shut – up. He did, however, admire (F/N)’s politeness in humouring the imbecile ...

“And _then_ the banshee simply conceded defeat – would you believe it?! She practically fawned over me for having bested her. Bet they don’t teach _that_ sort of charm in Ms Goshawk’s books, eh, Filius?” Lockhart bragged, shaking his head in a pompous manner, smiling ridiculously and shooting what he clearly thought was a very saucy wink at (F/N). Professor Flitwick bristled irritably.

(F/N) quietly cleared her throat and continued eating as though she hadn’t seen or heard anything. Fortunately, enough teachers were talking all around the table that her avoidance of partaking in Lockhart’s mostly one-sided conversation went unnoticed. Severus spotted Lockhart gearing himself up to speak to (F/N) again – no doubt to try to woo her with more grandiose tales of his achievements – when she suddenly turned to Professor McGonagall and very expertly cut him off.

“I do apologise, Minerva; you were telling me earlier about the last Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher …”

Lockhart pouted in a most indignant fashion, causing Severus to smirk and someone else to snigger. (F/N)’s put-down couldn’t have been timed any better, and even Minerva had to pause before answering.

“He was working for You-Know-Who,” said Minerva, taking a sip of her drink. “Trying to get his hands on the Philosopher’s Stone to bring him back to full strength, all while he was _living_ off him – quite literally,”

(F/N), everyone was interested to note, did not look surprised. “Figures …” she said softly. “I wouldn’t put anything past him. What happened to the teacher?”

“Professor Quirrell attacked Harry Potter, but couldn’t harm him …”

(F/N) knew why that would have been. Lily’s love had protected Harry from Voldemort once, when he was an infant, and it would continue to do so for years to come. She was not surprised about this either, and nodded knowingly without saying what was truly on her mind. Instead, she asked, “How on earth did Harry come to face Quirrell in the first place?”

Minerva smiled. “I’m sure you have already been told, but Potter is as rascally as his father. He and his friends have already established themselves as having a talent for trouble …”

Severus only just managed to conceal his scowl. (F/N) thought she glimpsed it, but could not be sure so she returned her attention to Minerva. She smiled in spite of her suspicions. “Yes, I’ve heard. So I take it he was ‘investigating’, and found himself in the thick of things?”

“Tha’s Harry all righ’!” boomed Hagrid merrily. He’d had more wine than the rest of them and was very pink in the cheeks, behind his great, bushy beard. “Oh, (F/N), you’ll love ‘im! Yeh know, now I think of it, he even acts a bit like _you,_ sometimes …”

(F/N) blushed the same shade of crimson as her dress and smiled sheepishly at her plate. She didn’t know how that could possibly be the case, but she was flattered nevertheless. Severus shot Hagrid a look of warning but the gamekeeper missed it completely – had he seen it, it would have told him to stop talking about Harry to (F/N) for the time being because, while it would mean the world to her to be near him again, he could almost _hear_ how upset it made her to think of Lily … and James, he supposed …

After dinner, Lockhart tried to find an excuse to walk (F/N) back to the hospital wing but she wriggled out of it by (correctly) pointing out that she would be accompanied by Madam Pomfrey (whom she already referred to as Poppy). Again, Severus smirked at Lockhart’s failure, but he wondered how on earth (F/N) had already become comfortable with calling her old teachers and other school staff by their first names. _He_ didn’t do that.

He returned to his chambers feeling very strange indeed. He wasn’t sure whether to feel mostly happy or whether he should focus on the swirling mess of other emotions he felt. He stepped inside the cool, dark room and closed the door, locking it behind him and leaning his back against it as though barring himself from the world. No thoughts or feelings occurred to him at all for a moment, and then it all came suddenly spilling out …

Severus crumpled. He found himself hunched over, clutching his stomach as though he had been punched very hard, and wishing more than anything he could find _some_ sort of comfort. He moved to his bed, sitting on the edge and magicking the sconces around the room to life. When he was able to see what he was doing, he rifled through the top drawer of his nightstand, looking for something very specific …

A wad of letters touched his fingertips and he pulled them out of the drawer. He untied the piece of string holding them together, and took the first one from the pile. He turned it over and pored over the handwriting of (F/N) Castor, penned during happier times, when they were at school and carefree and, dare he recall, in love. The letter was at least fourteen years old, and in times of misery and despair he had taken it out and read it over and over again. The corners of the parchment were dog-eared and the letter itself was faded and slightly crinkled from being handled so many times. Now, he read it to remind himself that (F/N) had loved him once (whether she did now was academic), and that he owed her just as much as he owed Lily. Of course, their circumstances were fundamentally different, but he would not let (F/N) believe that she was unloved. He laid the letter out on top of the nightstand and went to get ready for bed. He left it there all night, wanting it to be the first thing he laid eyes on next morning …

(F/N) faced similar emotions as she prepared for bed, too. It suddenly hit her that this was the first night she would be spending at Hogwarts without her best friend, and she burst into tears. She missed her so much, and felt so guilty that she had been given a second chance at life whereas Lily had not. She wanted, more than anything, to hold her again and laugh and talk and do all the little things they used to do together. She wanted to go back to the good old days, full of smiles and lacking in responsibility, when _everyone_ was alive and together …

She caught herself wishing for the days when Lily and Severus were still friends, but that reminded her of the time she started crushing on him; she moved on to memories of when they were a couple, but that sliced her heart in two as she remembered what Voldemort had told her before she died. She curled up on her bed in her pyjamas, crying into her pillow as she forced herself to think instead of Sirius, but that brought only more pain to think of his situation and how he had left her, after accusing her of having an affair with Remus …

(F/N) wanted someone to hold her and tell her it would all be okay. She wanted someone to give her a cuddle and tell her they loved her, that she wasn’t as useless as she felt and she, like Lily, was worth something to someone. She cried herself to sleep that night, lying on top of her bedsheets, imagining that the war had never happened.

***

The next day, (F/N) saw Severus numerous times as he made trips between the Potions storeroom, his classroom and the hospital wing. Poppy had told her – half-informatively and half-warningly – that Severus, being the Potions professor (as well as Head of Slytherin, which (F/N) wasn’t sure if she should have been surprised about), often supplied the hospital wing with medicinal ingredients and potions. She would usually make her own, but Severus would often bring ready-made remedies up from the dungeons to supply the ward.

“He’s been very helpful over the years,” said Poppy, checking the expiration date on a bottle of Skele-Gro she had just taken off one of her shelves. “I suppose, with the number of times he ever found himself in here as a student, he probably appreciates the work we do,”

“I would imagine that is the case,” said (F/N) quietly, mixing a bowl of Burn-Healing Paste and spooning it into a glass jar.

“Are you all right, dear?” asked Poppy worriedly. She bustled over, skirts rustling, and peered closely at (F/N) while trying to discern the reason for her quietness. She had, after all, seen her chatting and laughing quite amicably with Hagrid and Kettleburn the night before, two of their more rambunctious colleagues. Then she realised. “Oh, it must have been quite a shock for you, mustn’t it, seeing Severus again …?”

(F/N) gave her a brave smile. “It was surprising, but I’m all right,” she said. “Thank you for asking,”

Poppy wasn’t convinced, but one of her greatest virtues was knowing when not to press for information. She had always been remarkably good at keeping her patients’ secrets and not asking too many questions, and she was determined to uphold this good reputation with her colleagues, too. “I’m here if you need to talk about anything, all right?”

“Thank you, Poppy. I appreciate that,” said (F/N) with another sweet smile.

Just as she finished speaking, Severus returned to the ward with a large bottle of freshly-brewed Essence of Dittany, as Poppy had asked. “Ah, thank you, Professor Snape,” she said, taking it from him. (F/N) noted how Poppy addressed him formally to his face but by his first name when talking to her.

“Is there anything else you need, Madam Pomfrey?” he asked. His deep, silky voice rang out clearly in the airy ward, giving (F/N) goosebumps. She concentrated on not getting Burn-Healing Paste all over the table. It was sticky, so it was proving difficult enough to get off the spoon as it was …

“I think …” said Poppy speculatively, “… Madam Castor is taking care of the rest. We’ve got a nice Burn-Healing Paste there, ready to go, and I think she’s also got some Murtlap Essence on the boil in the next room …”

Severus tried not to smile, but he could not help the comment that followed. “There isn’t any Vervain in it, is there, or anything else that might make it smell like candy floss?”

(F/N) whirled around to look at him, her cheeks flushed pink. Was he teasing her or was he questioning her ability to do her job properly? She decided it was probably the former, but if so, _why?_

She was confused, but was about to force herself to smile in spite of herself, to let Severus know that if he had just made a joke then it hadn’t gone over her head, when Lockhart came swaggering into the hospital wing. His ridiculously bouncy, golden locks flounced as he walked, giving it a peacockish presence all of its own. He wore robes of dazzling aquamarine – presumably, (F/N) thought, to make an impact when the students returned from their summer holidays – and the way he smiled at her made her feel as though he was expecting something. A compliment, perhaps.

“Ooh, what have we got here?” he asked, lapsing straight into conversation without so much as a word of greeting. Severus narrowly restrained a withering roll of his eyes.

“Burn-Healing Paste,” said (F/N). She thought she would be hearing that phrase repeating itself, over and over, for hours now that it had been mentioned so many times.

“Ah, I know it well!” Lockhart declared, turning and waggling his eyebrows at Severus and Poppy. (F/N) glanced at Severus, flicking her eyes between him and the oblivious Lockhart. The self-important DADA professor turned his attention back to (F/N) in an instant and shot her a ‘charming’ grin. “I don’t suppose you’ve had a chance to read any of my books yet, have you? One you should _definitely_ look into – I mean, knowing how much you always liked to read, I’m sure you’ll enjoy them all – but you should _absolutely_ , _categorically_ have a read of _Voyages with Vampires_. I whipped up the mightiest Burn-Healing Paste you could imagine!”

(F/N) cocked an eyebrow at him. “Oh, was one needed, then?” she asked nonchalantly, cleaning the spoon she was holding with a cloth. She held him in a piercing, (E/C) stare, the corners of her lips quirked upwards in a half-smirk. The tone of her question compelled Lockhart to explain that the paste was not, in fact, required because he had acted with ineptitude in any capacity.

“Yes, without a doubt! A bit of a mishap, you see, warding the vampire off with fire. It was very windy, the day I hunted this vampire down, and this great gust blew in as I cast my spell, and partially set my robes alight …” Lockhart was gesticulating wildly, demonstrating how he apparently waved his wand to conjure flames to fight the vampire. “I put out the flames in a heartbeat – no harm done, never fear – but the devils licked my hand and I sustained a bit of singeing …” he said, in the manner of someone talking about battle scars they were actually proud of.

“Oh, well that’s good then … And I presume the vampire was all right, in the end? I would think, being threatened with fire, he or she must have run a mile …” said (F/N). Severus and Poppy both took note of the hint of slyness in (F/N)’s voice.

“Well, I must admit I don’t really know what happened to that one in the end, save he fled far from the village he was terrorising, flames billowing behind him … Gosh, the thanks I got for that feat, getting close enough to him to –,”

“I can only assume, then, that those villagers were not familiar with Paragraph Twelve of the Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans … I suppose we should hope, for the sake of your reputation, that the vampire ultimately lived or they might consider your actions to have violated the Guidelines …”

That wiped the smile off Lockhart’s face. Poppy turned back to her cabinets with a very amused expression, and Severus quietly excused himself while wearing an extraordinarily satisfied smirk. “W-well …” Lockhart stuttered. “I only used lethal force where it was necessary on my travels, and it wasn’t _imperative_ on this occasion … I’m quite sure he would have been all right in the end, there was a river nearby …”

“Ooh, well let’s hope he knew how to swim,” (F/N) replied, with a barely-concealed chuckle. “Don’t worry, Gilderoy, your secret is safe with us. Isn’t that right, Poppy?”

Poppy smiled to herself. “Of course,” she said to Lockhart, without looking at him.

“R-right, well … There aren’t any secrets to keep, of course ... I’m sure the old vamp was all right, as I said … But I shan’t bother you lovely ladies any longer! I must be getting back to my office – fan mail doesn’t respond to itself, you know!”

With that, he hurried from the room. He was approximately one step short of actually running away, and if _his_ robes had been on fire at that moment then he might have done a perfect demonstration of how this ‘vampire’ had fled. Poppy turned to (F/N) with an enormous grin.

“I think a few more reality checks could be in order for that one …” she said quietly.

“He’s always been the same,” said (F/N) with a smirk of her own. “If I’d ever had to consider what he’d be like after school, I wouldn’t have said he would be successful – never mind the fact that he is – but I certainly wouldn’t have said he’d be less arrogant,”

“I think we’re going to enjoy having you back, Miss Castor – sorry, _Madam_ Castor,” said Poppy fondly. “Life at Hogwarts fits you like a glove,”

(F/N) smiled again, although more to herself this time. She certainly hoped Poppy was right. She was grateful to not have to see Lockhart again that day until dinner, so she was able to fully immerse herself in her work. Her Murtlap Essence turned out beautifully, and she was pleased to add it to Poppy’s stores.

At the feast, she found herself seated between Poppy and Flitwick at the teacher’s table. She marvelled at the enchanted ceiling and candles as she had when she was a student, because after so many years it was like seeing it for the very first time. The sky beyond the great, mullioned windows was dark already, and (F/N) could hear the students beginning to fill the corridor outside the main doors. She was so excited she couldn’t help fidgeting in her seat – Harry would be in his second year, so he would be coming through with the rest of the school before the Sorting. She was astounded that she had not yet thought to ask which house her godson was in, although she thought that with a Gryffindor mother and a Gryffindor father, the boy would very likely be one himself.

Minerva was outside, keeping the arriving students in order. Before long, though, they began streaming into the Hall, taking their seats at their respective house tables. (F/N) was thrilled to see the generations of young witches and wizards who came after her time, and wondered how many of them had parents or relatives she knew. This silent question to herself was answered as she spotted a few children whose parents were very obvious: at the Slytherin table sat a pale, silvery-haired boy who could only have been Lucius Malfoy’s son, and he was flanked by two hulking, heavy-set boys who bore striking resemblances to _their_ fathers, Crabbe and Goyle, who had been in Lucius’ year at school.

On the other side of the room, (F/N) caught sight of a shock of vivid red hair at the Gryffindor table; three of Molly and Arthur Weasley’s boys were sitting with their schoolmates, with one of them still taking his time to complete his duties as Prefect. (F/N) realised that two of them were twins, and so she sat there trying to remember what Molly and Arthur had once told them their children’s names were.

Fred and George were the twins, she recalled with a small smile, although she had never actually _met_ any of the Weasley children. The two eldest boys were William (Bill) and Charles (Charlie), and (F/N) supposed they would have left Hogwarts by now. That meant the eldest boy she could see in the Hall was Percy. There was also a son who would be Harry’s age – he was Ronald, or Ron, as he had been affectionately referred to back in the day. She had not seen him though, and by her estimations there was one other child who would be joining Hogwarts’ ranks that evening - Molly and Arthur’s only daughter, if memory served correctly …

Pondering the Weasleys’ children and, simultaneously, how long she had been gone for them to have all grown up, (F/N) hadn’t realised that the Hall was now full. Moments later, Minerva re-entered with all of the new first-years in tow, leading them to the front of the Hall to try on the Sorting Hat one at a time. The Hat itself had been sitting on its usual stool in front of the rest of the school while they waited for the new students.

(F/N) looked around. She couldn’t see anyone who looked like they might be Harry. She also only counted three Weasley brothers sitting at the Gryffindor table, and their sister Ginevra standing among the first-years. So where was the other boy?

As the Sorting got underway, (F/N)’s sense of foreboding increased. She was pleased to see so many fine young Gryffindors being Sorted, but she was now convinced that her godson was not, in fact, sitting somewhere among the assembly of students. Her attention was drawn away by Severus, however, as he got up from the head table and whisked past her, leaving the Hall via one of the small doors behind them. She wondered where on earth he was going.

(F/N) did not find out where Severus had rushed off to until much later. She watched the rest of the Sorting ceremony (pleased as punch that Molly and Arthur’s daughter had also made Gryffindor along with her brothers), had been introduced to the school along with Lockhart _and_ started on dinner all in the time it took for her to receive any information whatsoever on what had happened to make Severus so keen to leave the Hall. From where she was sitting, she had a perfect view of the entire room and spotted him striding past the main doors in a wash of flowing black robes, followed at a safe distance by two boys.

She leaned down towards Flitwick and asked, “Did I just see two students walking with Severus?”

Flitwick, who had just been thinking the very same thing, replied, “Yes. I overheard that Mr Potter and Mr Weasley – that is, the _youngest_ Mr Weasley – did not arrive with the other students on the train this evening,”

(F/N)’s eyes widened and she shook her head in dismay. “Why on earth weren’t they on the train?” she wondered aloud. She had been concerned for Harry, and now that she had caught a glimpse of him she couldn’t help but wonder just how much like his father he really was.

“Nobody knows!” said Flitwick with a slight chuckle. “Honestly, those boys give new meaning to the word ‘mischief’,”

About ten minutes later, Severus came sweeping back into the room with a face like thunder. His sharp black eyes flicked briefly to (F/N) before settling on Minerva, who rose from her chair and hastened from the Hall in the direction Severus had just come. (F/N) hadn’t been comfortable with the look Severus had given her, nor the fact that he was now speaking to Dumbledore who also stood and made his way from the Hall with him in tow.

_What was going on?_

(F/N) didn’t find out until the next day at breakfast. Word around the school was, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley had flown a flying car to school and crashed it into the Whomping Willow. Professor Sprout – Pomona, as she had told (F/N) to call her – had spent all morning bandaging the tree up, and Lockhart had insisted on ‘helping’. (F/N) couldn’t _believe_ how much like James that was, but she also couldn’t believe how much Harry looked like him. As soon as he entered the Hall that morning, (F/N)’s heart nearly stopped. If she’d only glanced at the boy, she might have thought James Potter had walked into the room.

(F/N) thought she did very well not to cry. Harry looked healthy and happy (the previous night’s events notwithstanding) and she had been told by Madam Hooch that he played Seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch team – the youngest player in a century. She couldn’t have been prouder. Her only regret was that she hadn’t been there for him in the last decade …

It was a grey, cloudy day and the dull clouds swirled above them in the enchanted ceiling. As (F/N) sprinkled sugar on her cornflakes, trying hard not to stare at Harry too much (even though he had spotted her and had been watching her intermittently for a few minutes), the post started streaming into the Hall and countless owls filled the air. Parcels and letters dropped in flurries at every table, and an old, grey owl took a dive-bomb into one of the milk jugs closest to Harry. His friend, Ron, pulled the owl out of the jug and took its delivery. A girl they were sitting with, presumably a friend of theirs, shook _Voyages with Vampires_ dry after it was showered with milk.

Even at this distance, (F/N) could see that Ron Weasley was holding a Howler. She glanced along the table at Minerva, who looked very solemn indeed.

“ _RONALD WEASLEY!”_ the Howler boomed, shaking dust from the ceiling. (F/N) was so surprised by the volume of Molly’s shouting that she jumped, scattering cornflakes from her spoon and back into the bowl, and onto the table, too. “ _HOW DARE YOU STEAL THAT CAR? I AM ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED! YOUR FATHER’S FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK AND IT’S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT. IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE’LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME,”_

(F/N) was flabbergasted. A few students giggled into the ringing silence that fell upon the Hall after the Howler ripped itself up, but soon went back to their conversations. (F/N) watched as Ron slid back up in his seat, his crimson face clashing with his vivid red Weasley hair, and as Harry pushed his porridge away, looking suitably ashamed of himself. She had not expected this to be her first-second impression of her godson, but everything seemed to go back to normal after that. Minerva walked along the Gryffindor table handing out their timetables for the year, while Pomona and Filius did the same for their houses. Severus handed out the Slytherin timetables, starting from the back, and once again fixed (F/N) with a peculiar look when he caught her eye.

She knew it had everything to do with Harry, but she didn’t know how _she_ was supposed to help …

For the rest of the day, she heard nothing else from students passing the hospital wing but rumours they’d heard about Harry Potter and Ron Weasley’s arrival at Hogwarts. Once or twice, a teacher entering the ward to speak to her or Poppy about medicine, ingredients or healing magic also asked her about Harry, but her answer was simple: this was her first time seeing him in ten years, and she was just as shocked as everyone else. Still, she thought, that didn’t stop her from adoring him.

The students’ first day back was relatively uneventful apart from the Potter-Weasley incident, but just after lunch she spied Harry walking past the hospital door, clutched awkwardly to Lockhart’s turquoise-clad side. He looked extremely uncomfortable and she couldn’t blame him. An hour or so later, after the bell had rung again, she overheard a lot of chatter from various second-years as they went to their next lessons. _Apparently_ (and she hoped this wasn’t true), Lockhart had set an entire cage of Cornish pixies loose in his classroom and they had proceeded to wreak havoc on the class.

Upon overhearing this, (F/N) and Poppy exchanged looks that were equal parts weary and apprehensive. (F/N) personally did not care what Lockhart’s books said he’d done; as far as she was concerned, he probably wasn’t any more suited to teaching now than he had been at the age of eleven. Unfortunately, the rumours the nurses overheard were quickly proven true, as second-year Gryffindors Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas brought their friend, Neville Longbottom, onto the ward.

“This wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with Professor Lockhart’s lesson, would it?” said (F/N) with a gentle smile to the round-faced boy, as she sat him down on one of the freshly-made hospital beds. His ears, she observed, were extremely red and sore, and he sported a few nicks and scrapes where the pixies had obviously bitten and scratched him, too. Seamus and Dean told Neville they’d see him later, and went off to their next lesson.

“How did you know?” Neville asked.

“Madam Pomfrey and I hear a lot of things when people walk by in the corridors,” said (F/N) with a light chuckle. She was extremely pleased to meet Frank and Alice’s son after all these years, too, and felt incredibly sorry for him in knowing what had happened to _his_ mother and father. She said nothing about it, however, and concentrated instead on the boy’s swollen, angry-looking ears.

“Tsk, tsk …” she tutted, looking closely at him. “They’ve done a number on you, haven’t they?”

“It’s not so bad …” said Neville bravely. “Just sore, that’s all …”

“Yes, I can imagine. Cornish pixies aren’t the most dangerous of creatures, but students still ought to be taught how to deal with them _before_ coming face to face with them,” she said, speaking in a voice that Neville found extremely soothing. “Stay very still for me a moment, dear, and I’ll fetch something for those cuts,”

Neville did as he was told, sitting as still as a statue for (F/N). He was a well-behaved student as it was, but there was something about the softly-spoken new nurse that made him want to make her job as easy as possible. He’d overheard lots of people talking about her already and knew he’d have questions levelled at him as soon as he saw his classmates again.

(F/N) came back a moment or two later after washing her hands, and carrying a silver tin in the shape of a star. “This is Star Grass Salve,” she said, turning the tin to show him what was inside. Neville was suddenly visited by the idea that Madam Castor would make a good teacher. “If you could please turn your head to the side, love, I’ll start with those red ears of yours …”

Neville once again did as he was told and turned his head to the side. Madam Castor dipped two cool fingers into the salve, collecting some of the paste, before rubbing it gently onto his ear. It felt very pleasant, and her voice was like a breeze as she politely asked him to turn his head to the other side, so that she could work on his other ear. Neville felt his ears healing by the second.

When she’d finished with Neville’s sore ears, (F/N) opened a nearby drawer and took out some cotton wool swabs. “All right, sweetheart, now if you could please look straight ahead I will use these to apply this to those nicks on your face …”

Neville closed his eyes as the nurse dipped the cotton wool buds into the salve before dabbing them gently onto his face. Again, he felt the stinging of the cuts receding within seconds and it actually felt as though (F/N) had completed her work too soon.

“That’s everything,” she said with a smile, replacing the lid on the tin with a gentle clatter. “Does that feel better?

“Yes, much better, thanks …” said Neville. “I think we’ll need lots more of that stuff if we have more lessons like that …”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, Mr Longbottom, you _shouldn’t_ need it,” said (F/N) sweetly. She glanced behind him and saw Poppy smiling at her from the doorway to the hall between their rooms. “I’ll speak to Professor Lockhart, and let him know you’re all right while you get yourself off to Charms,”

Neville grinned. “Thank you, Madam Castor. I’ll try and stay out of trouble,”

(F/N) smiled as she saw Neville off. Poppy approached her and said, “I’m impressed with how quickly you dealt with that – well done!”

“Thank you, Poppy,” said (F/N). “It felt good to get some hands-on experience,”

“I think you’re right though; you should have a word with Gilderoy about setting creatures on students …”

“Oh, believe me, he hasn’t heard the last of this, and if I hear of something like this happening again then Cornish pixies will be the least of his worries,”

Poppy chuckled. “I would thoroughly enjoy seeing you put him in his place again, although I do hope the events that come before do not expose any more students to his foolishness,”

(F/N) had a sinking feeling that they would, but she wasn’t entirely certain that she had the authority to tell Lockhart off for his shoddy classroom practices. She hoped this was simply a one-off event and would give him the benefit of the doubt for now, but the next time she saw him she would not hesitate to inform him of the injuries Neville had sustained. He wasn’t getting away with it so lightly, that was for sure.

Over the course of the week, Poppy and (F/N)’s workload increased as more students got themselves into various mishaps. While she had been perfectly capable of handling things by herself beforehand, Poppy was immensely grateful for (F/N)’s support and (F/N) was thoroughly enjoying her work, although she did feel sorry for some of the students who came onto the ward. There were people who had suffered all manner of bites and stings in Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures by Thursday, and by Friday she’d dealt with two students who had, in separate lessons, exploded their cauldrons in Potions and burned themselves. That same day, she had Filius come in with a large, throbbing green boil between his eyes where Ron Weasley’s broken wand had flown forth and struck him in the face. She was reminded of her first Charms lesson at Hogwarts, when Pettigrew had thrown his wand across the room …

She tried not to think about Pettigrew, feeling that her own wand would be at risk of snapping as she clenched her fist around it.

“You do good work, (F/N),” said Filius, hopping down from the bed he was sitting on. “You and Lily were always two of my best students,”

(F/N) blushed and smiled. “Thank you, Professor …” she said shyly, forgetting to call him by his first name. He laughed and reminded her.

“Not at all, my dear. You’re a natural! Keep it up, and I’m sure Poppy will soon think of you as an extra limb!”

“I already do,” said Poppy kindly. She had been listening from the other side of the ward.

Saturday came and (F/N) offered Poppy the first weekend off but she politely declined, saying that she would be able to make far better use of it than she would. So, after much persuasion, (F/N) spent Saturday reading, responding to letters from her parents and Haydn (and, by extension, Edith, who was extremely excited at the prospect of seeing her at Christmas), and going to visit Hagrid in the late afternoon. He told her all about how Harry, Ron and their friend Hermione Granger had been there earlier that day.

“I’ve already heard about Miss Granger,” said (F/N), as she sat sipping tea in Hagrid’s hut. “She’s very bright, I hear,”

“Oh yes,” said Hagrid with a smile. “She reminds me o’ you, now yeh mention it …”

(F/N) blushed crimson and tried to hide her face.

“It’s a shame the three o’ them weren’t closer to the castle earlier; poor Ron was throwin’ up slugs after a curse backfired …”

“Oh dear …” said (F/N) with a sympathetic tut. “Who was he trying to curse? _Why_ was he trying to curse them?”

“Well, the kids told me Draco Malfoy called Hermione Mudblood on the Quidditch pitch – Harry was out practising when the Slytherins turned up, yeh see – and the whole lot o’ them went mad … Ron got angry too, tried to curse Malfoy, and ended up cursing ‘imself with that broken wand …”

(F/N) was aghast, but not totally surprised that Lucius Malfoy’s son went around the school bandying words like ‘Mudblood’ about. “Such a disgusting word …” she whispered, taking another steadying sip of tea.

Hagrid nodded, glancing at (F/N) with caution. He had yet to speak to her about Lily, and he had heard from Dumbledore about what He Who Must Not Be Named said to (F/N) about Severus before she died. It seemed foolish to Hagrid to mention the fact that Severus had once – somewhat infamously – let slip the same horrid racial slur when referring to Lily.

Hagrid decided against bringing it up. Instead, he chose to mention how Lockhart had been to visit him that day too, and how displeased he had been with Hagrid’s opinion that Harry was more famous than Lockhart without trying, and how Hagrid also hadn’t read any of his books. (F/N) sniggered.

“Don’t worry Hagrid, I haven’t read any of his books either,” she said without hesitation.

Hagrid laughed too. “Oh, I’m sure he’d be even less pleased to know _you_ haven’t read them yet. D’yeh know, the way he keeps on about yeh makes me wanna give ‘im one o’ these in the chops …” Hagrid raised a balled fist and mimed punching someone in the face.

“Oh Hagrid, you are kind,” said (F/N) between peals of laughter. She wasn’t happy that Lockhart was already talking about her behind her back, as if she were some trophy to be won, but she could certainly appreciate having good friends to watch her back. “That won’t be necessary, though. Besides, you’re too soft for that. Gentle giant, and all that, eh?”

Hagrid beamed down at her. “Yeh know me, (F/N), but I’ll always look out for me friends. Anyway, sweet though yeh are, I think _yer_ more likely to punch ‘im than I am,”

The friends laughed even more. (F/N) had to admit, it felt good to be getting back to the way things used to be. Halfway through their catchup, Kettleburn appeared at Hagrid’s window and Hagrid called him in for a cup of tea, too. Kettleburn proceeded to tell (F/N) all about the creatures and how they’d been since she left school, and talked about how Aeolus had still lived in his glade until about a year and a half ago.

“I miss him terribly …” said (F/N) sadly, placing her teacup on a saucer on the table. “I wonder if he’ll come back …”

Kettleburn reached out to her and patted her hand, resting on her knee. “I’m sure he will,” said the CoMC teacher kindly. “He can’t miss the signs,”

“What signs?”

“Well, he shares a very special bond with you, doesn’t he? Your hippogriff won’t be able to stay away for long,” he said with a smile.

(F/N) hoped that was true. She would love to reunite with the creature who had brought her so much joy over the years, and make sure he was faring well in these strange new times. Strange for her, that is, she was quick to realise.

On her way back to the ward that evening, just before dinner, she was unfortunate enough to bump into Lockhart who was coming out of the staff room as she walked by. He was quick to waylay her, a stark obstacle dressed in palest mauve, standing in a plain, stone corridor, and insisted on walking her to the Great Hall – which was approximately a ten-second walk away.

(F/N) wasn’t sure what she expected, but Severus – who was walking up from the dungeons at that very moment – bore witness to Lockhart sweeping (F/N)’s arm up to lock with his and cajoling her into walking with him, and the dark-eyed Potions master did nothing but raise an eyebrow at these antics. Several students also noticed Lockhart’s behaviour and, to (F/N)’s immense discontent, began whispering about what they’d seen.

“Did you know, young Harry Potter has the best luck in the world …” said Lockhart, as he forcibly escorted (F/N) up the Hall towards the head table.

“Why is that?” asked (F/N), in a voice laced with irritation.

“Why, he gets to spend that detention he earned himself with _me_ , helping me reply to my fan mail! Oh, I’m sure he’ll have a whale of a time, in fact it can hardly be considered a punishment at all, can it? I’m sure he’ll be thanking me later, when he finds out what his friend will have to do instead …”

“Oh, I thought you’d replied to your fan mail already,” said (F/N), recalling their conversation from earlier in the week. “You said that was what you were off to do, the last time you were in the hospital wing …” (F/N) thought it prudent to remind him that this was not the last time they had spoken, because the last time he _had_ come into contact with her was when she had sought him out in reference to Neville’s injuries.

Lockhart laughed heartily. “Oh, you are a tease!” he said, much too loudly for (F/N)’s liking. “I couldn’t _possibly_ respond to all that mail in one sitting. Besides, I’ve had many more letters over the course of the week …”

“Yes, I’m sure …” said (F/N) wearily, slipping her arm out from his and finding herself a seat. She could not avoid choosing one that left space on her other side for Lockhart to sit, so she resigned herself to the fact that she would hear nothing but his voice for the entirety of dinner. Her spirits were lifted, however, when she spotted Harry entering the Hall with Ron and Hermione at his side. The boys did not look happy, though, and (F/N) suspected this had something to do with the fact that they had probably encountered Minerva in the corridor outside.

After dinner, (F/N) found out that not only did poor Harry have to spend his detention with Lockhart, helping him reply to his fan mail as he said, but Ron would have to spend his with Mr Filch (who (F/N) still addressed as Filch or Mr Filch depending on who she was speaking to), polishing all of the school’s awards in the trophy room. She heard all of this from Poppy, who had been speaking to Minerva during dinner.

“I wouldn’t wish an evening with Lockhart on my worst enemy,” said (F/N) quietly, as they walked back to the ward together. Poppy chuckled.

“It’ll teach them not to do anything like this again, though, won’t it?”

(F/N) smiled. “I suppose it will, yes. Or it _should,_ anyway,”

“You know, I think you would be a very good influence on Mr Potter,” said Poppy gently. “I can see the love you hold for him, as his godmother, but I can also tell that you wouldn’t spoil him – _too_ much, anyway,”

(F/N) stopped in front of the table she often used to mix poultices, salves and potions. She wished, more than anything, she could reach out to Harry and let him know that she was there for him, but she simply couldn’t do that … The thought nearly tore her heart out but she had to remain strong for him, even if he didn’t know her.

“I’m sorry …” Poppy went on, breaking the silence that had fallen on the room. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it …”

“No, no, it’s fine,” said (F/N) reassuringly. “I don’t want people to think I’m some fragile creature. You can talk to me about anything,”

Poppy gazed at her with a sympathetic expression, but (F/N) never saw because she was busy stacking pots and cleaning utensils. _Perhaps not **absolutely**_ _anything_ , Poppy thought. She had, for example, noticed the slightly strained quality of (F/N) and Severus’ interactions, although it was clear they both wished for the air to clear so they could move past the thing that kept them apart …

Poppy thought there must be much more to the rift between the Head of Slytherin and the ex-Auror, besides the obvious; that they were lovers, once upon a time, and that they had also fought for opposing sides in the war. Poppy knew it all, but as always her lips were sealed. When he was still new to Hogwarts as a teacher, Severus had confided in her in one of his darkest hours and had revealed what Voldemort had said to (F/N) as she died ... That no one had loved her.

Now, thinking back to when Severus gave her this information, Poppy realised that (F/N) must still remember those words every time she looked at him.

She went back to changing the pillowcase she was holding. She was an expert healer, but she knew there were some things that could only be healed with time. This was certainly one of those things.


	7. Chapter 7

September gave way to a cold, damp and chilly October, and (F/N) and Poppy suddenly found themselves very busy with curing people of colds. It seemed as though a spate of them had started among the staff and students, and they were kept going by making and administering Pepperup Potion. It was extremely effective, but left its drinker steaming at the ears for a long time afterwards.

At one point, Severus also fell victim to a cold and had to swallow his pride, approaching the nurses one dreary Thursday afternoon for a dose himself. (F/N) was reminded of the time he took her Potions book off her on the train, in their fifth year, and quizzed her on Pepperup. As with a lot of things, (F/N) forced this from her mind and locked it out.

The weather was atrocious throughout the month, and in spite of the high winds and lashing rains, (F/N) still sometimes caught sight of the school’s four Quidditch teams taking it in turns to train. She knew the Quidditch season wasn’t far away, but she couldn’t help feeling that the current conditions weren’t right to be flying in. At any rate, she fully expected to start seeing Quidditch players coming through their department soon.

The bad weather had done nothing to soothe Filch’s bad moods, either. Students often came traipsing in off the grounds covered in mud, and it would inevitably be Filch who had to clean up after them. To top it all off, Filch had one of the nastiest colds of all (although he told (F/N) and Poppy it was flu). It was for this reason that she felt very sorry for the student she heard him bellowing at just down the corridor from the hospital, one miserable, late Saturday afternoon. It was during this same afternoon that she and Poppy overheard an almighty din coming from one of the upper floors, and considered that Peeves was finally up to his old tricks again.

(F/N) had been thinking, only days before, that the poltergeist had been unusually quiet so far.

The rest of October was blissfully uneventful, however, despite (F/N)’s conviction that there would be more incidents they would have to deal with. People kept catching their seasonal colds but these were not difficult to sort out. (F/N) had also noticed that she was apparently now the go-to for young witches regarding … ‘lady problems’. She considered that they probably would have needed to go to Poppy about such matters previously, but she was flattered that they also thought her kind and trustworthy enough to ask for help in that regard. It was because, according to Poppy, (F/N) “looked young enough to be their sister”.

Towards the end of the month, (F/N) watched as people got ready for the Hallowe’en feast; Hagrid brought several of his mammoth pumpkins into the school, carved into enormous lanterns, and a few of the teachers (with Flitwick among them, as always) took to decorating the Great Hall for the festivities. Apparently, Dumbledore had booked a troupe of dancing skeletons for the entertainment.

However, (F/N) was not feeling like herself and she could not be blamed. Hallowe’en was the day her best friends were murdered, eleven years earlier. The fact that she died that same day was of little importance to her, but she could think of nothing else as the dreaded day approached. Even her memories of helping to decorate the Hall in her first year, with Lily, were partially overwritten by her recollection of that awful night. Poppy didn’t know what to say or do to help, and it left her feeling very upset herself. She was not counting on someone _else_ being able to help, though, who coincidentally shared a ‘deathday’ with (F/N) …

(F/N) was sitting on her bed in her chambers, staring up at the latticed window as rain whipped it incessantly, when she was jolted from her thoughts by a man’s voice.

“Hello, Miss Castor!” said the Gryffindor ghost, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington. “Oh, I apologise for the intrusion …”

“Not at all, Sir Nick. How are you, these days?” she asked with a smile.

“Fine, very fine thank you, my dear,” said Nick. “My quest to join the Headless Hunt has been _thwarted_ yet again, but I am well. As well as a ghost can be, anyway …”

“Well, you’re _looking_ very well, if I may be so bold,” said (F/N), standing up to speak to him properly. “I’ve never seen a ghost with such a spectacularly pearly sheen,”

“You are very kind, Miss Castor – _too_ kind!” said Nick, and if he could blush he would have. “You are looking lovely yourself … Ah, is it true, what I’ve heard about you? That you … well, you know …”

“Died? Yes, it’s true …”

“Remarkable, simply remarkable!” said Nick joyfully. (F/N) was a little taken aback, but realised she shouldn’t have been surprised. “Congratulations on regaining your living form! I fear I am too far along in death to hope for resurrection, but I am used to my ghostliness now. Did you know, we actually _share_ a deathday?”

“Oh, really?” said (F/N), a little intrigued. She still wasn’t happy to talk about the night she died, but she was interested in Nick’s banter. “A few years apart, though, I would guess?” she added with a grin.

“Indeed!” laughed Nick. “It’s my five hundredth deathday on Saturday … I don’t suppose you’d like to come to the party?”

(F/N) was surprised at the invitation and was just about to respond when Nick suddenly interrupted her.

“Oh, what was I thinking? I am so sorry, my dear, it completely slipped my mind … It’s not a very _good_ day for you, is it?”

“Not ... really, but I would be more than happy to come and celebrate _your_ day with you,” she said earnestly.

“Not to worry, good lady, not to worry!” said Nick soothingly. “I will come by and see you in the afternoon, perhaps, and check on you if you are happy for me to do so …?”

(F/N) smiled. “That would be lovely, Nick, thank you,” she said. “Don’t worry about me, though, especially if you’ve got guests coming to see you,”

Nick beamed at her. “It won’t be any bother at all, Miss Castor. If nothing else, I would like to make sure that you are all right …”

(F/N) appreciated the sentiment immensely, and she went to sleep that night thinking of other things, because Nick had managed to make her feel a little better with his promise of a visit. When the day itself rolled around, (F/N) felt worse than ever but, true to his word, Sir Nick came and sat with her for a couple of hours, chatting away to her, before graciously taking his leave to attend his party. After he left, (F/N) busied herself with restocking the cabinets with potions and other medicinal mixes, to the point of making herself late to the Hallowe’en feast – if she’d had any intention of going, that is.

(F/N) managed to distract herself long enough for the feast to finish, and her attention was only drawn back to the present by the sounds of well-fed students leaving the Great Hall and making their way to their common rooms. She heard the babble die down, though, and a sudden shout ring out through the school, so she decided to investigate. She got there in time to see a rather gruesome scene, and her godson and his friends at the heart of it as the other students were dismissed to their dormitories.

Mrs Norris – Mr Filch’s cat – was hanging from her tail on a torch bracket, stiff as a board, and there was water all over the floor. On the wall, daubed in blood, were the words: THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED, ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

(F/N)’s blood ran cold.

“She’s not dead, Argus,” said Dumbledore softly, who had just detached Mrs Norris from the wall sconce. “She has been Petrified, but how, I cannot say …”

“Ask _him!”_ Filch shrieked, turning to glare accusingly at Harry. (F/N) couldn’t believe it, and wanted to throw herself in front of Harry as though to protect him from the insinuation that he had done this. “It’s him that’s done it! You saw what he wrote on the wall …”

“It’s not true, sir, I _swear,”_ said Harry, giving Dumbledore a beseeching look. “I never touched Mrs Norris,”

“Rubbish!” snapped Filch.

“If I might, Headmaster …” said Severus gently from where he stood nearby. (F/N), as well as everyone else, turned to look at him. “Potter and his friends may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time …”

(F/N) wasn’t sure why Severus wore a slight sneer, as though he doubted this statement, and she also wasn’t sure that she was happy with it. Harry and his friends all glanced at each other in bewilderment.

“However, we do have a set of suspicious circumstances here. Why were they in the upstairs corridor at all? Why weren’t they at the Hallowe’en feast?”

The students all launched into a long, garbled explanation of Sir Nick’s deathday party and how they had been invited themselves – there were lots of ghosts there who would vouch for them …

“But why not join the feast afterwards?” asked Severus, his black eyes glinting by the light of the candles lining the corridor. “Why come up to this corridor?”

(F/N) noticed how Ron and Hermione turned to look at Harry. She, too, was curious about what brought them here, of all places, but she also felt extremely sorry for Harry. She knew it wasn’t just because he was her godson that she believed him when he said he hadn’t had a hand in Petrifying Mrs Norris.

“Because – because …” stammered Harry. “… because we were tired and wanted to go to bed,”

“Without any supper?” said Severus. Now, (F/N) _really_ wasn’t happy with the way he was interrogating the boy. “I didn’t think ghosts provided food fit for living people at their parties,”

“We weren’t hungry,” said Ron loudly, but not loudly enough to cover the sound of his stomach growling. (F/N) felt anger stir inside her as she saw Severus’ already unpleasant sneer take on an even nastier quality. Suddenly, she felt sure she knew what this was about, even without knowing all of Severus’ history with Harry and his friends.

Harry looked like James. He even _spoke_ like James. Given Severus’ past where James was concerned, it seemed very likely to (F/N) that Severus would hold that against Harry, no matter how he behaved. She was standing quite near to Harry now, too, and she could see something else that Severus was sure to dislike: Harry had Lily’s eyes.

(F/N) tore her gaze away because if she didn’t, she knew she wouldn’t be able to hold herself together.

“I suggest, Headmaster, that Potter is not being entirely truthful,” said Severus, drawing (F/N)’s slightly wrathful attention back to him. “It might be a good idea if he were deprived of certain privileges until he is ready to tell us the whole story. I personally feel he should be taken off the Gryffindor Quidditch team until he is ready to be honest,”

“Really, Severus,” said Minerva brusquely, interrupting (F/N)’s suddenly furious thoughts. “I see no reason to stop the boy playing Quidditch. This cat wasn’t hit over the head with a broomstick. There is no evidence at all that Potter has done anything wrong,”

(F/N) loved Minerva for that. She could have hugged her. Meanwhile, Dumbledore was giving Harry a long, searching look but soon came to a decision. “Innocent until proven guilty, Severus,’ he said resolutely.

Severus looked utterly incensed, and (F/N) couldn’t honestly say that she sympathised. In fact, she was quite angry with him for his ‘suggestions’. Filch started on about punishment and retribution, but Dumbledore held up a soothing hand and assured him that Mrs Norris could be cured.

“Professor Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrakes. As soon as they have reached their full size, I will have a potion made that will revive Mrs Norris …”

“I’ll make it,” said Lockhart suddenly, eager to butt in wherever he could. (F/N) was surprised at how quiet he had been until this moment. “I must have done it a hundred times by now. I could make a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep …”

“Excuse me,” said Severus sharply. The look he gave Lockhart was positively glacial. “I believe _I_ am the Potions master at this school,”

Dumbledore dismissed Harry, Ron and Hermione before the situation could become any more awkward, advising the utmost caution moving forward. Then he said, “Madams Pomfrey and Castor will be able to administer the potion once it has been made, Argus, and they will – I’m sure – do a stellar job of nursing Mrs Norris back to health,”

Poppy, who was standing between Minerva and Pomona, nodded eagerly at Filch and (F/N) quickly followed suit, although she was still slightly ticked off about the accusations he had levelled at Harry. There was nothing more to be said, however, and everyone made their way back to their quarters. Filch was very noticeably sniffling as he walked away. Poppy was the one to carry the stiff body of Mrs Norris.

“We’ll keep her on a bed behind a curtain,” she whispered to (F/N), as they made their way back to the ward.

When they got to the hospital wing, (F/N) flicked her wand and all of the candles rushed to life. Standing in the middle of the room, however, was Hagrid.

“Was wonderin’ where yeh’d got to …” he said to (F/N) with a sheepish smile. He was holding something in his hand.

“Sorry, Hagrid … There was a bit of a fiasco upstairs,” she replied, gesturing vaguely to Poppy as she carried Mrs Norris to one of the least-used beds on the ward. “What’s up?” she added with a smile.

Hagrid came over to her and (F/N) saw that he was actually holding a small plate. “I saved yeh some cake …” he said, and (F/N) realised it was indeed a slice of cake – red velvet – wrapped Hagrid-style in a black and orange Hallowe’en napkin. Poppy had just gone to her room to fetch a few things she obviously thought Mrs Norris would need, even in her Petrified state, so she did not witness the way in which (F/N) lost the fight with her restrained emotions, brought to breaking point by her gratitude for her friend’s thoughtfulness.

“Oh, Hagrid …” she wept, hugging her enormous friend as best she could. She bawled into his coat, clutching at it desperately as though afraid that, if she let go, he would be cruelly whisked away from her too. Hagrid hastily put the plate on one of the nearby beds and hugged her back, rocking her from side to side as he listened, heartbroken, to her muffled sobs.

“I thought yeh might need some company today, but when yeh didn’t come to the feast …”

“I’m sorry …” she cried. “I’m so sorry …”

“What’re yeh apologising for?” Hagrid said, rubbing her shaking back. (F/N) looked up with bleary eyes and tear-stained cheeks. “Yeh’ve nothing to be sorry about …”

“I let them down …” she said, hiccoughing through her tears. Then, in a whisper, she repeated, “I let them _all_ down …”

“You did no such thing!” he told her adamantly. “(F/N), the fact yer back at all is a _blessin’._ Yeh shouldn’t be blamin’ yerself fer what happened that night, and yeh _certainly_ shouldn’t be spendin’ today alone … I’m on’y sorry I didn’t come sooner …”

“Don’t be silly …” (F/N) gasped, wiping her cheeks on her sleeves. “You were really busy today,”

“Still,” said Hagrid, patting her shoulder as gently as he could. “Yer my friend, and I don’t want to see yeh suffer. Y’know yeh can come and see me any time, don’t yeh?”

“Of course, Hagrid. You’ve always been such a good friend …”

Hagrid stuck around to make sure (F/N) was all right before heading home. Poppy came out of her room before he left and saw (F/N)’s face streaked with tears and, as soon as she’d done all she could for Mrs Norris, she ushered (F/N) off to bed with a grateful nod to the man. As the gamekeeper left the ward, he crossed paths with Severus who was on his way back to his own quarters. Suddenly remembering how much (F/N) had cried, Hagrid could not help the hard look he gave the Potions master, who in turn wondered what on earth he’d done to deserve it.

It did not take him long to work out, though, because as he passed the hospital wing he glanced inside and saw Madam Pomfrey right at the far end, quite obviously speaking to (F/N) in low, reassuring tones. He paused just out of sight and listened, and could hear (F/N) speaking too. She sounded wretched.

Severus had long since got used to the way he felt about certain things, but it wasn’t until now that he remembered what day it was. He had, of course, been at the feast, but it took his consideration of (F/N)’s feelings to realise the kind of impact this would have on her.

He walked back to his room, shut the door, and curled up on his bed without further thought paid to Potter and his friends. Instead, he focused on the awful, burning guilt in his stomach and how terrible he felt, knowing how upset (F/N) was. It stood to reason, he knew, but he couldn’t speak to her about that terrible night because it would unearth so many more questions and problems …

He felt trapped.

Meanwhile, in her bed, (F/N) also felt trapped. She didn’t know whether she could do this, but she also didn’t know how she _couldn’t._ She owed so much to her family, and now she realised how much she could be there for Harry even if he didn’t know about her. There were so many things that still hurt her, though, that she didn’t know how she could look to the future for the things that would make her truly happy again …

(F/N) fell asleep, exhausted from crying, and feeling as though she could be reliving a bad dream she’d once had, where she was cold and alone … It had felt very much like death.

***

From that point onward, (F/N) did her very best to distract herself from thinking about what happened eleven years ago. Of course, that was quite difficult, given that Harry Potter attended Hogwarts, but other than that she managed to put on a very positive — almost sunny — outward appearance. She absolutely _had_ to focus, for the sake of her job, because the Quidditch season was about to begin.

The first match of the season would be played between Gryffindor and Slytherin. (F/N) had set up beds and potions and other medicines in preparation for any potential casualties, and on the morning of the match she was to be found fussing with her bottles of Murtlap Essence and Skele-Gro, tins of Star Grass Salve and various other remedies. Poppy approached her at half past ten, however, and absolutely made her day.

“Professor Dumbledore has asked – since there are two nurses, now – if one of us could go down to the Quidditch stadium to keep an eye on the players,” said Poppy with a smile. “I thought you might like to, since this will be your first time seeing Mr Potter fly …”

(F/N)’s heart leapt in her chest. She didn’t know how she’d be able to keep herself from screaming encouragement at the top of her lungs, but she agreed nevertheless and so made her way to the stadium with Minerva, who stopped by the hospital wing on her own walk out onto the grounds.

“Are you looking forward to it?” she asked, leaning towards (F/N) in an excited sort of way.

“Oh yes, very much so!” said (F/N) gleefully. “Gryffindor has always had a good team,”

Minerva smiled. (F/N) was a Gryffindor witch until the very end, just like her. “Well, the team we’ve got at the moment is a very … colourful one,” she said. “Of course, there is Potter who plays as Seeker, and then there’s Wood, the captain and the Keeper. Spinnet, Bell and Johnson are our Chasers, and the Weasley twins are the Beaters,”

(F/N) grinned. She was anxious (in a good way) for the match to get underway. Minerva led her up the steps to the stand the teachers usually sat in, and where the commentator also did his thing. The commentator was Lee Jordan, who was apparently a good friend of the Weasley twins. (F/N) seated herself comfortably between Minerva and Pomona, who was also going to be supporting Gryffindor that day – even though she was, of course, Head of Hufflepuff. Filius sat at the very front due to his small stature, and he turned around in his seat and gave her an enthusiastic thumbs-up, which she returned with just as much zeal.

Down below, (F/N) saw the Slytherin team filing across the pitch towards the changing rooms to get ready. On the other side – the side closest to her stand – she also saw the Gryffindor team doing the same. Harry walked between the Weasleys, who were marked, as always, by their vivid hair. (F/N) didn’t need any help recognising her godson, though, not even at this distance.

Madam Hooch was already on the pitch, waiting for the players to come out at eleven o’clock. While she waited, (F/N) turned her gaze to the sky; it was slate grey and threatened thunder. It was not yet cold, but she could feel that it certainly would be getting that way soon. She turned her head at the sound of more footsteps coming up the stairs, and saw Lockhart coming into the stand. He caught her eye and leaned ‘nonchalantly’ on the rail at the back, next to where Dumbledore had chosen to stand. On the other side of the stadium, (F/N) spotted Severus sitting with a few other teachers who had decided to watch from there.

With him was Lucius Malfoy.

“Minerva …” (F/N) whispered, leaning in as close as she could without attracting attention, or being too far away for her to hear her whispers. “What is Lucius Malfoy doing here?”

Minerva gave a little shudder. “He is, most unfortunately, one of the school governors,” she replied joylessly. “There are a few other governors over there, too. Sometimes they come to watch the Quidditch, especially if they have a child who plays,”

_That explains it,_ (F/N) thought. Still, she wasn’t pleased that Lucius was there, both on principle and also the fact that he wasn’t the sort of person she wanted to find out about her ‘second chance’. Those thoughts were nevertheless forgotten when the players all filed back onto the pitch in their respective emerald and scarlet robes. They all assumed their places, the captains shook hands (aggressively) and Madam Hooch blew her whistle, signalling the start of the game.

All of the players pushed off the ground and soared away across the pitch. (F/N)’s eyes were on Harry as he climbed higher into the sky than any of the others, to become a red speck against the deep grey sky. She felt quite sick, seeing him so high up, but he’d already played for Gryffindor for a year now, so she simply had to trust that he would be all right.

That was until the Bludger went after him.

George Weasley went straight to Harry’s aid and successfully knocked the Bludger away. However, the ball came whizzing straight back at him from another angle. Rain began to fall, and they all watched as Fred and George flew closely with Harry to protect him from the Bludger. It was clear to (F/N) – and, she hoped, to everyone watching – that this Bludger had gone rogue and had obviously been tampered with. She wanted to shout out, but her voice was stuck in her throat as she looked on with deepest concern.

Relief came a few minutes later in the form of a time-out, but it was short-lived. The Bludger stopped attacking Harry, but the Slytherins were jeering and booing at the Gryffindors instead. In no time at all, the Gryffindors were back in the air – but Harry was flying on his own. Whatever he had said to his captain, it meant that the Beaters were now leaving him alone. (F/N) thought she was going to be sick as she watched him dodging the Bludger, flying at him from every angle. Still, she conceded that her godson was as good a flyer as everyone had expected him to be, when they saw him flying on his little toy broom as a toddler … His father would have been so proud of him, with his speed and agility and sheer skill on a broomstick.

Suddenly, Harry stopped. Slytherin was ahead in points by quite a long way, owing to their shiny new Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones. (F/N) wondered what on earth he was doing, before realising he must have seen the Golden Snitch. At first she thought he had been distracted by Slytherin Seeker Draco Malfoy, who had been sneering at Harry’s attempts to throw the Bludger off his tail all match …

(F/N) gasped and nearly jumped out of her seat as the Bludger struck Harry in the arm; he had been sat still a moment too long. It circled back around and was going for his face, but Harry soldiered on through the pain and shot after the Snitch, his (obviously broken) arm draped across his other shoulder for support. The young Mr Malfoy hadn’t noticed what Harry was going for, though, and dived out of the way, giving him ample opportunity to catch the Snitch and end the game. (F/N) gave another anxious squeak as Harry veered towards the ground, coming off his broom at the last second and crashing into the pitch. She leapt from her seat and hurried down from the stands, not just because it was her godson who was injured but because this was the precise reason Dumbledore had wanted one of the nurses to attend the match.

All thoughts of the Gryffindor victory, won by Harry, flew from her mind as she hurried across the pitch, hitching her skirts up slightly and cursing the infernal contraption that was her uniform – she thought she would move much more efficiently in her own clothes. The crowd surrounding Harry parted for her almost immediately, but when they did she saw she was too late; Lockhart had got to Harry first, and had done … _something_ to his broken arm.

“What have you done?” she said, as calmly as she possibly could, kneeling down next to Harry. She knew that if she looked at Lockhart then she would explode at him.

“Broke my arm …” said Harry feebly, staring at the limp excuse of an appendage sticking out of his Quidditch robes.

“No, love, not you … Professor Lockhart? What spell did you use, exactly?”

“Ah, well, it’s a spell they use for mending broken bones in Sumatra, you see, but it can sometimes have _this_ effect instead …” Lockhart stuttered, trying to convince (F/N) that this really was the case. He could tell by the look she gave him that she didn’t believe him one jot.

“Never mind that, Harry should have been brought straight to me or Madam Pomfrey. It’s what I was on hand for, at any rate …” said (F/N) crossly, helping Harry to his feet. She then turned all of her attention to him, asking if he could walk. When he nodded, he held onto (F/N)’s arm with his good hand and followed her to the hospital wing, far from Lockhart and his ‘remedies’.

Needless to say, Poppy was not pleased by what had happened, either.

“You should have come straight to us!” she raged, holding up the pitiful remains of Harry’s arm. (F/N) settled him on one of the hospital beds while Poppy stomped around looking for beakers and her strongest bottle of Skele-Gro. “We can mend bones in a second, but growing them back –,”

“You will be able to, won’t you?” asked Harry desperately, looking up at (F/N) with big, green eyes. Lily’s eyes, she was sharply re-reminded.

“Oh, we‘ll be able to, certainly, but it will be painful,” said Poppy grimly. She opened a drawer and took out a set of pyjamas, throwing them to Harry. “You’ll have to stay the night …”

(F/N) left Ron to help Harry change and pulled the curtain around the bed while she and Hermione waited outside. (F/N) bustled off – still steaming from Lockhart’s stupidity – and busied herself with something else, listening to the conversations going on around her.

“How can you stick up for Lockhart now, Hermione, eh?” called Ron through the curtain. “If Harry had wanted de-boning he would have asked,”

“Anyone can make a mistake,” said Hermione reasonably. (F/N) would normally have agreed with such a logical statement, but since they were talking about Lockhart she stood firmly against it. Everything Lockhart did was a mistake. “And it doesn’t hurt anymore, does it, Harry?”

(F/N) stifled a giggle at Harry’s glib response. “No, but it doesn’t do anything else, either,” She then heard him climb back onto the bed and Poppy pushed the curtain back. Hermione and Ron remained at Harry’s bedside while he forced down a beaker of Skele-Gro (it was disgusting, so (F/N) could hardly blame him for coughing and spluttering as it went down), and then guzzled some water to wash it down. Poppy had warned Harry he was in for a rough night and went off grumbling about Quidditch being dangerous, bumbling professors and the like. (F/N) had never heard her criticise another member of staff before.

She left the friends to it, horrified by Harry’s injury and Lockhart’s slapdash attempt at first aid, but thrilled to have her godson so nearby. She and Poppy were in the next room, preparing for the night ahead, when she looked at her and gave her a gentle smile in spite of her own bad mood.

“I can tell you’re in your element, even though you’re angry with Gilderoy,” said Poppy softly. “It must be nice, getting to look after him again …”

“It’s wonderful to just be close to him,” said (F/N) quietly. “Walking him back to the castle was the first time I’ve been able to hold him since he was a baby …”

“I’ll be on hand to help if you need me, of course, but I think I’ll leave him in your capable hands, in any case …” said Poppy with a small chuckle. She could see how much this meant to (F/N). She was about to change the subject when there suddenly came a lot of noise from the ward, and Poppy’s ire came back with a vengeance.

It was the rest of Harry’s Quidditch team, praising him for his catch and for winning the game. They had cakes and drinks and other snacks and had just settled in for a party – covered in mud and dripping wet – when Poppy arrived back on the scene, shooing them away on account of the sheer number of bones Harry had to regrow. They all left him to it, and while (F/N) agreed with Poppy, she couldn’t help feeling sorry for the boy as he sat looking rather dejected in bed.

After a good deal of thought, she caught up with Poppy about an hour later and said, “When is our next staff meeting?”

“I think it will be in the new year, now …”

(F/N) gave a little sigh. “I need to speak to Dumbledore about banning Lockhart from interfering with staff duties that are not his own,” she said. “We’re only in November, now … He could damage a whole house of students by January,”

Poppy also sighed and nodded her head. “I don’t think it can hurt to speak to Albus about it,” she said. “I agree that Gilderoy could do a lot worse between now and then but that’s what we’re here for, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely,” said (F/N). “I’m going to see if Harry needs anything; I expect he must be bored senseless,”

And so she did. She went and fetched some books and magazines for him to flick through, which he did for a while, but when the sun had set and everyone could be heard making their way to the Great Hall for dinner, (F/N) whisked off to the kitchens to procure some food for him, too. She brought him some cottage pie with plenty of greens, some pumpkin juice and a nice lemon sorbet for pudding. She propped it all up on a tray for him so he could pick at his food as he wanted, but when he saw the meal Harry’s eyes lit up and he got started right away. It was nothing like what Madam Pomfrey usually gave students to eat ... She was of the opinion that plain meals were better, to minimise the risk of patients being sick. (F/N) knew the meal and Harry’s medicine wouldn’t make him ill, though.

“Thank you, Madam Castor …” he said, blowing on a forkful of hot mashed potato. “This is great!”

“Not at all, dear. You’ve had a long day, and you wouldn’t be here at all if not for … factors beyond your control,” she said with a soft smile.

She wished she could tell him to call her by her name, and tell him all that she knew – most especially that she loved him and that he, her godson, was very precious to her – but she simply couldn’t. Instead, she sat on the bed next to his, listening to him chat away to her. The smile never left her face and joy danced in her eyes as he told her about how much he enjoyed Quidditch, all about his favourite lessons (and least favourite), his friends and what he liked most about life at Hogwarts. He even asked her a few questions which she was careful in answering, but overall she felt as though a conversation with Harry every day would be all the medicine she could ever need.

Unbeknown to her (because she was so absorbed in talking to Harry), dinner had finished and the rest of the school was off to the common rooms. A few teachers walked past but none of them looked inside the hospital wing … except for Severus. He saw (F/N) sitting there, speaking to Harry as though they had perhaps reunited (of course, he knew (F/N) would be keeping the truth from Harry for a while yet). Even at this distance, he could see how her face was alight with glee to be talking to him, and how Harry himself seemed to enjoy spending time with her, too.

Severus walked away. His feelings on the subject were confused and he didn’t want to spend any longer than necessary thinking about it. He knew that, one day, (F/N) would tell Harry who she really was and what that made her to him, but for now he conceded that (F/N) should just be allowed to have what precious time she could with him. Dumbledore’s words rang out clearly in Severus’ mind: _“You never saw her with Harry, but as his godmother she doted on him so. She was a second mother to the boy.”_

His last thought on the matter — before he had to shut it all out — was that he had no doubt that, in the next few years, (F/N) would prove that statement true many times over.

Back on the ward, Harry said, “Sorry, I haven’t shut up at all in the last fifteen minutes …” He gave her a slightly guilty look. “I’m sure you’ve got other things you want to get on with …”

“Not at all, love,” said (F/N) kindly. “I like listening to you. You’re a very interesting young man,”

Harry blushed. “Thanks …” he said, taking a swig of pumpkin juice. “I just … I don’t know, this’ll sound silly but … you’re really easy to talk to …”

(F/N)’s chest swelled with pride and she thought her heart would burst. “Well, I’m very happy to hear that, Harry,” she said, with a mile-wide grin. “If you ever need to talk about anything – anything at all – you can come and see me,”

Harry thanked her again and grinned. His eyes twinkled just as Lily’s used to. (F/N) put that from her mind and focused on the fact that this was Harry, not James or Lily, and moved the tray out of his way by vanishing it. She was just about to say something in relation to his arm when he suddenly gave a great yawn, making her laugh.

“I think someone needs sleep,” she said fondly. “Are your pillows all right?”

“Oh yes, thanks …” said Harry, snuggling down. He’d never found the hospital beds particularly comfortable, but something about the nurse’s presence made him feel very … _at home._ He also wondered if she offered all of the students who came through the hospital wing the same sweet, almost motherly treatment she had given him. Still, Harry wasn’t going to question it and decided to keep enjoying it instead.

“All right then,” said (F/N), magically dimming the candles around the room. “Sleep well, Harry,”

Harry smiled at her and found himself drifting off to sleep within seconds. (F/N) wanted to squeal and jump for joy but restrained herself, and closed the hospital doors with a flick of her wand before returning to her own chambers. She picked up her father’s handbook on their ‘kind’ and began to leaf through it, feeling more content than she thought she ever would again.

She felt as though a piece of her had been restored.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all,
> 
> Certain scenes / events have been altered to fit the story, but the timeline is pretty much the same.
> 
> I would also like to take this opportunity to apologise if my formatting is inconsistent on occasion (for example, some words written in italics sometimes do not have a space after them and before the next word, something I have been editing extensively to prevent) but the website appears to have a mind of its own and will not apply my changes. I will try to correct any such issues as and when I spot them cropping up again, but everything has been proof-read to date.
> 
> I hope you’re enjoying the story so far. :)
> 
> \- SooperChicken

That night, (F/N) and Poppy got a very nasty awakening. (F/N) had been dozing in and out of sleep at her desk but wearing her nightgown, because she wanted to be able to go straight to Harry if he needed anything while his bones regrew. However, she was startled awake by someone moving in the corridor outside her room and leapt up (a bit too quickly, making her head spin), threw on her dressing gown and poked her head outside the door. Minerva was coming out of Poppy’s room in a hurry with the matron in tow.

“Ah, (F/N), yes, I think you should come too …” said Minerva, and (F/N) did not need telling twice after seeing the look on her face. She hurried along the ward with her colleagues and saw Professor Dumbledore standing over one of the beds nearer to the door.

“What happened?” asked Poppy, leaning over what looked like a statue of a boy lying on the bed.

“Another attack,” said Dumbledore gravely. “Minerva found him on the stairs,”

“There was a bunch of grapes next to him. We think he was trying to sneak up here to visit Potter,”

(F/N) felt her stomach drop. Even she knew how much the boy – Colin Creevey – admired Harry. “He’s been Petrified, then?” she said, taking note of how he still held his camera in front of his face.

“Yes,” said Minerva. “But I shudder to think what might have happened if Albus hadn’t been on his way downstairs for hot chocolate …”

Dumbledore prised the camera out of Colin’s rigid grip and opened the back of the camera, just as Minerva wondered aloud whether the boy managed to get a picture of the one who had attacked him. There was a small bang and a hiss of steam, and the room was filled with the smell of melted plastic.

“What does this _mean,_ Albus?” asked Minerva.

“It means ...” said Dumbledore carefully, staring at Colin’s face, bathed eerily in moonlight. “... that the Chamber of Secrets is indeed open again,”

(F/N) felt her heart give a funny little stutter as Poppy put a hand in front of her mouth and Minerva stared at the headmaster.

“But Albus … surely … _who?”_

“The question is not _who,_ but rather _how …”_ said Dumbledore quietly. Minerva looked utterly flummoxed and Poppy looked a little faint. (F/N), however, felt sure that she knew this was coming after what had happened to Filch’s cat. She had read about the Chamber of Secrets in _Hogwarts: A History_ back when she was in school, and remembered the story fairly well. Besides that, in the magical world, hardly _anything_ was coincidental. She had a horrible suspicion that the writing on the wall had been a serious thing, and not just some creepy student getting an idea for a prank. Plus, Mrs Norris _had_ been Petrified.

Together, Poppy and (F/N) pulled the tall curtains around Colin’s bed and bade goodnight to the headmaster and deputy headmistress. There was nothing more that could be done for now. (F/N) checked on Harry as she and Poppy made their way back to their separate rooms and, satisfied that he was all right, retired once again. Harry was discharged the following morning, having been given breakfast and the all-clear by Poppy, and he hurried off to find his friends.

There was little time to stand on ceremony, though, as a staff meeting was called early and so it was that, that Sunday afternoon, the two nurses found themselves sitting with everyone else in a disused classroom on the seventh floor, sufficiently out of the way of roaming students (and because Dumbledore’s office wasn’t exactly set up to accommodate every member of staff). (F/N) recognised the room immediately and tried very hard not to glance at Severus, given the way he had pushed her up against that door, once upon a time, and kissed her as though his life depended on it. She was not the only one who remembered.

Dumbledore started the meeting, as usual, and it mostly revolved around the attack of the previous night.

“Therefore, all students and staff are being advised to take _every_ precaution to ensure their own safeties as well as that of others,” said Dumbledore. “That said, on our way here Professor Lockhart suggested starting a Duelling Club for the students, to give them further tools and experience that they can use to defend themselves should the need arise …”

Poppy nudged (F/N) in the side and she glanced at her, wondering why she had tried to get her attention. Poppy widened her eyes and nodded her head to the side in a meaningful way, and (F/N) then got the hint. Before Lockhart could start running his mouth again, (F/N) put up her hand as though in class herself and Dumbledore (very willingly) turned his full attention on her.

“Yes, (F/N), my dear?”

(F/N) suddenly felt very self-conscious, with every pair of eyes in the room coming to rest on her. She met Lockhart’s cocky gaze, though, and her confidence bubbled up anew. “I just wanted to say that a Duelling Club is a good idea, Headmaster, but the point that Poppy and I wish to make ties in with it. Please could we ask that, if any minor injuries to students or members of staff are treatable on-site, then the necessary care is administered by someone with at _least_ a year’s experience _in – this – field,”_ she said, stressing the point very clearly. “Anything more severe we respectfully request be brought to us as a matter of urgency,”

Lockhart didn’t appear to be listening and, although he was _half-_ listening, he was also very busy inspecting the exact angle of his cufflinks. Everyone became aware that (F/N) was not addressing them, per se, but most definitely Lockhart as, when he looked up, the first thing he noticed was the cold, piercing stare (F/N) had fixed him with. A few of their colleagues smirked.

“Thank you for making that point so eloquently, (F/N),” said Dumbledore as (F/N) sat down again. “We will, of course, defer to the sound judgement of yourself and Poppy on matters which require medical attention, urgent or otherwise. We are fortunate to have two such skilled and diligent witches in our hospital,”

(F/N) and Poppy beamed, more so for the fact that Lockhart looked suitably put-down by the scathing tone of (F/N)’s ‘request’, and the insinuation that he was in no way qualified to handle matters of a medical nature.

“On that note,” said Dumbledore, as though he had just remembered something very important. “Please could we borrow one of our lovely nurses to be on hand during the Duelling Club meeting sessions, once these have been arranged? I am certain this will come as a relief to some of our more … anxious students,”

(F/N) knew what that meant. Dumbledore didn’t trust Lockhart to oversee the Club properly, and knew it was highly probable that someone would get hurt or mutated in some way. She turned to Poppy and asked, “Would you like me to do it or would you like to instead?”

Poppy gave her a weak smile. “I think perhaps you ought to,” she said. “I’ll only be stopping the students from casting spells every few seconds … Not very helpful to them, I’m sure,”

(F/N) grinned and turned back to Dumbledore. “I’ll attend,” she said.

“Thank you, my dear,” he said again. He moved on to other topics for discussion, briefly, but there was very little else to go through so the meeting was wrapped up soon after. Everyone went off to do whatever it was they spent their Sundays doing – in (F/N)’s case it was reading her ‘manual’ and other books, and responding to her post – as well as waiting to hear more on the current affairs at the school.

Soon enough, (F/N) got wind of when the first Duelling Club meeting would be and she was therefore able to prepare. In the end, she decided to go along to the Great Hall for eight o’clock on the Thursday evening with only her wand, rather than a selection of medicinal concoctions. As she was just down the corridor from the Hall itself, she went along half an hour early to help set everything up and touch base with the other members of staff who were helping out.

A great, golden stage had been set up in the Hall and was lit by a huge number of candles, making it seem incredibly bright. Lockhart was already swaggering around as if he owned the place, and fortunately had not spotted her yet. However, as she was looking around the room figuring out where she would be most ideally placed to supervise, a deep, soft voice spoke behind her and she whirled around.

“It’s a bit much, isn’t it?” said Severus, glancing around the room as well.

“… Just a little,” (F/N) replied.

“This will just be a case of seeing how it all goes,” he said, noticing (F/N)’s reticence. He hoped that if he kept talking, she would start to feel a bit more comfortable around him again. “For what it’s worth, we’ll _try_ to avoid as many casualties as we can,”

“Are you helping to run this thing, then?” said (F/N).

Severus gave her a sidelong look that suggested he _should_ have been running the Club, but wasn’t. “No. Lockhart has that _honour._ He’s been going on all day about how I’m going to be his ‘assistant’ …”

(F/N) smirked. “You? Someone’s assistant? I don’t think so,”

Severus resisted the urge to smile, purely so that if a student walked in they wouldn’t wonder what was wrong with him. He had approved of (F/N)’s comment, though. It was almost like old times and he wondered what had changed. He suspected it of having something to do with her chat with Potter.

“Yes, well … He’s bound to show himself up sooner or later …” he said in an undertone, so that Lockhart wouldn’t hear.

(F/N) glanced up at Severus with her pretty, (E/C) eyes. “Let’s hope it’s sooner, eh?”

Lockhart spotted her and came sauntering over before she could get away. “Ah, there you are! I was starting to wonder where my lucky charm had got to … but then, I suppose, if you’re as good as I am you don’t need luck …”

“You sure know how to make a lady blush, _Professor,”_ said (F/N) sarcastically. Severus smirked once again, unable to help himself, and strode off to find a place to stand near the stage, just as the first students began filtering into the room.

“Oh, come now …” said Lockhart jovially, attempting to link arms with her again. (F/N) staunchly refused. “You know we’re on a first-name basis, don’t you?”

(F/N) rolled her eyes. If _that_ was what he was worried about when she made that scathing remark then he was denser than even she had given him credit for. She was saved by several more students entering the Hall, and she left Lockhart’s side for the opposite end of the stage to Severus. A few other members of staff joined them, but (F/N) suspected they were mostly just there to watch and make sure the Hall didn’t burn down.

Soon enough, it was full to the brim and all of the students had gathered around the golden stage to watch Lockhart give his introduction, which was just as pompous as his cynics had expected. There were so many girls sighing over him, and so many boys rolling their eyes, that (F/N) was suddenly reminded of Moran. However, Moran had been much humbler and, although more handsome than Lockhart could ever hope to be, the softly-spoken, Irish Divination teacher was far, far more attractive in every other aspect besides.

Lockhart had just introduced Severus as his ‘assistant’, as the latter had informed (F/N) he would. (F/N) noticed the way Severus was looking at Lockhart, and wondered why on earth he was still smiling so much. Severus looked ready to kill. She couldn’t say she was unsympathetic to that sentiment, if it were true.

The DADA teacher and Potions master began with a demonstration, in which Lockhart _correctly_ advised the onlooking students of the proper way to hold a wand and how to stand in a formal duel. (F/N) was stunned that he actually knew something. The professors bowed to each other – Lockhart much more flamboyantly than was necessary, and Severus giving little more than a jerk of his head – and Lockhart began the countdown.

“One – two – three …”

 _“Expelliarmus!”_ cried Severus, and a brilliant flash of scarlet light jetted towards Lockhart, striking him in the front and sending him sailing across the room. (F/N) had long forgotten what Severus looked and sounded like during a duel, or any kind of fight, but while she couldn’t deny that she still found him rather dashing, it brought up some sudden, bitter memories and she looked away. Lockhart staggered to his feet.

“An excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don’t mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were going to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy …”

(F/N) observed the murderous look in Severus’ eyes as Lockhart went on and on about how he thought the course of action he had taken had allowed the students to see the Disarming Charm in use. Lockhart noticed, eventually, and hurriedly announced the end of the demonstrations. He moved through the crowd and began pairing students up, ready for them to give duelling a go. (F/N) did not think they were ready, having only seen _one_ spell cast by a very talented wizard against a rather inept one. Besides, the students didn’t even know how to _block …_

(F/N) also noticed how Severus, with a rather unpleasant smile, separated Harry, Ron and Hermione from each other, placing Ron with Seamus Finnigan in his house, but Harry with Draco Malfoy and Hermione with a great, hulking Slytherin girl by the name of Millicent Bulstrode. Hermione was positively dwarfed by her. (F/N) could hear none of what Severus said to the students, but she _really_ didn’t like the look he wore.

And after she had decided to let her prior grievances with him slide, too …

Lockhart, standing on his gilded platform again, called out to the room at large, “Face your partners, and bow!” He then began another countdown, and bedlam ensued. (F/N) didn’t know where to look; there were so many spells flying about and so much chaos that she wasn’t sure she’d have been able to help, even if she spotted a student who needed her. Lockhart was calling out for them to disarm their opponents only, but precisely _nobody_ was listening.

“Stop! Stop!” shouted Lockhart in alarm, but it was Severus who called order to the place by casting the General Counter-Spell. All spells ceased and only a haze of green smoke lingered in the air.

(F/N) wasn’t listening to what Severus or Lockhart was saying, only overhearing the opinion that the students ought to be taught how to block unfriendly spells first, as she moved through the crowd helping students to their feet and mending their cuts and scrapes with a few flicks of her wand. She was already furious at the mayhem that had been caused by Lockhart’s inability to control a class, even a large one such as this, but she became even more so when Severus suggested Harry and Draco face each other on the platform to demonstrate blocking.

The green smoke shifted and (F/N) returned to where she had been standing. A few students thanked her for patching them up as she went, making her feel a bit better about how it all turned out. When she reached her spot, she looked up to see Lockhart standing with Harry, trying (and failing) to show him how to block an incoming spell. Harry looked concerned and (F/N) could hardly blame him; Lockhart dropped his wand on the floor, at one point, and she could have slapped him. Meanwhile, (F/N) noticed how Severus leaned in and whispered something to Draco …

When Severus straightened up, the first thing he noticed was the look (F/N) was giving him. It was a mixture of anger and incredulity, but also of hurt. He knew what her mind was asking: _“How could you want to disadvantage Lily’s son?”_

(F/N) didn’t know that the spell Severus had whispered to Draco wasn’t meant to _harm_ Harry, per se, but she could also tell by the look on the boy’s pale face that it wouldn’t be the first spell that he cast … She turned back to Harry just in time to see Lockhart cuffing him ‘sportingly’ on the shoulder, telling him to just do what he’d done. (F/N) couldn’t bear it, knowing that Harry was going into a duel unprepared, and was about to be humiliated …

She came forward, reached up and gave the hem of his school robes a little tug to get his attention. A few people started to whisper as she beckoned him over to her. Harry looked surprised but went to her nevertheless, and kneeled down so that he could hear her. He leaned in closer at her request, so that she could whisper in _his_ ear …

“He’s going to cheat, love, so get in there first. Swing your wand straight down in a line, top to bottom, and say ‘Protego’,”

Harry leaned back slightly and looked at her. Close to, (F/N) could see the exact _shade_ of his green eyes. “Protego?” he mouthed.

(F/N) nodded and gave him the thumbs up as he went back to his spot. He stood facing Draco, wand raised and ready to go. Lockhart began the countdown and, sure enough, Draco fired on ‘two’. His spell went straight for Harry, offensive from the outset, but Harry did as (F/N) advised and cast a perfect Shield Charm. Draco’s spell dissipated on contact with the blurry ward and the boy stared at Harry, stunned that he had blocked.

A few people cheered and clapped, (F/N) included. She caught Severus’ eye again, and the meaning of her expression was obvious to him. Her lips smirked but her eyes glared, and he knew she was on to him. Severus didn’t _want_ to fight with (F/N) over this, but the challenge she issued in that glare stoked a fire in him that he could not ignore.

Draco tried again, but this time he shouted the spell (F/N) suspected he had just been told by Severus. _“Serpensortia!”_ he shouted, and a thick, black snake exploded from the end of his wand, slithering along the platform towards Harry. Only …

Lockhart stepped forward and, with a wink in (F/N)’s direction, ‘valiantly’ catapulted the snake ten or fifteen feet into the air. Instead of vanishing, the snake hit the floor with a loud, unpleasant _smack_ and began hissing at the Hufflepuff boy closest to it, Justin Finch-Fletchley in Harry and Draco’s year.

Harry stepped forward, and a strange, guttural hissing issued from his mouth. (F/N)’s blood ran cold – _Harry was a Parselmouth._ Salazar Slytherin had also been one, and he wasn’t exactly popular thanks to his purported view of Muggle-borns — facts which didn’t tie in very positively with all of this Chamber of Secrets business going on at the moment ... (F/N) told herself that didn’t mean anything – _she_ , for example, could understand all animals (even though she wasn’t a Parselmouth herself) and that didn’t make _her_ evil.

This was the reason (F/N) was able to guess what Harry was telling the snake. While Justin looked angry and upset, possibly having thought that Harry was encouraging the hissing reptile, (F/N) was able to tell from the snake’s body language that Harry had actually told it _not_ to attack Justin. It lay still, looking up at Harry with its beady, black eyes, long enough for Severus to step up and vanish it properly.

Everyone stood staring in silence at Harry, trying to comprehend what they had just seen. Even Severus looked bemused.

“What do you think you’re playing at?” shouted Justin, before storming from the Hall and presumably back to his dormitory before Harry could say anything in his own defence. Harry looked from Severus to Lockhart and then to (F/N), and she wanted to bundle him up and cuddle him, telling him it would all be fine because of the desperation in his eyes. He just looked so confused …

Ron went up to Harry and persuaded him to move. Hermione followed the boys from the room, and after they were gone Lockhart called a swift end to the first Duelling Club ‘meeting’. Everyone left, tittering about what they had seen that night, and the platform was magicked away. (F/N) went straight back to the hospital wing, just in case any of the students needed last-minute care before bed. She heard footsteps in the doorway and turned to see Severus standing there.

She swiftly turned back to the medicine cabinet she was poking around in. Severus knew she was angry with him, but he needed to actually _speak_ to her about Harry.

“I don’t suppose you knew he could speak Parseltongue?” he said into the silence.

“… Of course not,”

“It’s going to mean trouble for him, what with the rumours about the Chamber of Secrets going around …”

“Well, there are lots of people who seem to have it out for him, why not a few more?” said (F/N) bitterly, closing the cabinet door with a smart clunk. She rounded on Severus with crossed arms and an even crosser expression.

Severus sighed. “Potter has been a thorn in the side of _many_ people since he arrived here a year ago, and I have been _trying_ – without success, so far – to deflate that ego of his …”

 _“What_ ego?” (F/N) demanded. She had seen no signs of Harry being a narcissist.

“He has his ways. He swaggers about the castle as if he owns the place; it’s high time he learned that just because everyone knows his name it does not entitle him to … What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

(F/N) was sneering, but her eyes were bright with tears. “Once upon a time, you used almost the same words about someone else. Someone who looked _just like_ Harry. I know what this is about …”

“It’s _not_ about that, (F/N), this is about the fact that –,”

“Harry Potter is the spitting image of his father and that’s all you see,” said (F/N). “I don’t need to have been here very long to realise that you’ve got it in for him. Irrespective of the man James became, you have a lot to dislike him for and I can understand that, but perhaps you might take a moment to remember who _else_ ’s son Harry is,”

Severus was stunned. He knew (F/N) was hurt but he hadn’t realised how deeply. Still, he felt as though oil and water had curdled within his being and he didn’t know how to react. He wanted to comfort her, because he knew – partly – where this outburst had come from, but in his anger he also wanted to … make things _worse_. Potter had angered him for a whole _year_ already with his antics, and he wasn’t prepared to be shot down in flames by the boy’s godmother. If she thought he could do no wrong, she had another thing coming …

“Goodnight, Severus,” said (F/N), seeing that no students would be coming back that evening. She turned on her heels and marched off towards her room. “Please close the doors behind you,”

She was gone. Severus hadn’t sparked her anger _quite_ like that before and wondered what that meant for them now. He didn’t know what to think or feel, but the overriding sentiment remained one of anger. He swept from the room, tried not to slam the hospital doors, and hardly breathed as he went back to his quarters, letting out a short, sharp breath as he got to his door. He wanted to punch something but didn’t …

It was mostly because, now that he had had some time to himself – if only a minute or so – he wasn’t sure what he was more angry about: (F/N)’s defence of Potter, her outburst at him, or the fact that her hostility towards him was borne of distrust sown by a vicious lie – Voldemort’s lie.

He had known these wounds would take time to heal, but when he looked at (F/N) he saw not only an old friend but also someone he had shared some of the best times of his life with. He cared for her, and because he was hurt by her anguish, he was impatient to make everything better. He knew that couldn’t happen, though – not so easily – and resigned himself to the paltry comfort of the fact that he _hadn’t_ said anything to make matters worse tonight.

He sighed again. There was always tomorrow, he thought.

***

Word spread through the castle like wildfire. By lunchtime the following day, (F/N) had counted thirteen separate instances of overhearing students of all ages talking about Harry’s ability to talk to snakes. On more than half of those occasions she had also picked up on people theorising that this meant Harry was the heir of Slytherin.

The school grounds had been blanketed in snow overnight and so all of the outdoor lessons for the day had been cancelled. (F/N) saw many students passing the hospital wing doors on their way to the library, or to lessons they could take indoors instead. Hagrid stopped by to visit her and check to make sure she was all right. In his fist he held a dead rooster, apparently the second to have died – or been killed – that term. (F/N) felt sorry for the poor birds, but wasn’t _entirely_ sure she should offer to try and bring them back ... _That_ would spark some rumours, certainly.

It was a quiet day, and quiet days very unhelpfully made time for (F/N)’s mind to run away with her, usually choosing to dwell on her most poisonous thoughts. She thought about her argument with Severus the evening prior, wishing she hadn’t blown up at him the way she had, but she also couldn’t see how his dislike of Harry could be caused by anything more than seeing James in him. (F/N) had no doubt in her mind that Harry could have his moments and was _not_ perfect – on the contrary, children could be very naughty, and she already knew he was as mischievous as his father – but she had already seen proof, given by Harry himself, that he was as kind and sweet as Lily.

In her still-delicate and fragile state, this only served to enforce her belief that Severus had loved Lily so much that he couldn’t handle being reminded of her so often, _or_ the fact that she had married someone else. It was enough to make her sick, but she distracted herself with her family’s book. She immersed herself in tales of the two Celtic Hekan clans – Lamorna (her clan) and Aulane in Ireland – and how it came to be that their people were so rare. She quickly realised, from absorbing this information, that they were on the brink of extinction and that there were a few reasons why …

The first and most glaringly obvious reason was the existence of a group of hunters – almost like witch-hunters – called the Hounds of Nodens, and their efforts over many centuries to kill these ‘creatures’ they deemed unnatural and evil for being able to raise the dead. (F/N) remembered what her father had already told her about the Hounds too, and shuddered to think of their capabilities. She also thought how fortunate her father was not to have ever been caught. She looked to the bottom of the page and saw a rather ancient-looking illustration of a male ‘Hound’.

He wore a long, blue tabard. (F/N) remembered the people who had come to Hogwarts in her sixth year, searching for a ‘creature’ who could Apparate anywhere at will, and the long, blue coats they had worn. Her blood ran to ice as she remembered what one of them had said — that she looked like someone they knew. She shivered and shrugged the thought away; at least that was _one_ mystery of her past that had been solved.

The next paragraph was quite intriguing to her, however. It detailed what (F/N) deemed the other reasons for her people’s rarity, and shed some light on the relative strangeness of the Celtic Hekan body. It was allegedly known to the Hekans as a ‘race’ that men were far more common than women. At the time the book was written (or edited, she supposed), (F/N) learned that no females had been born since the 1600s. However, that fact on its own was not cause for her race’s uncommonness – there was also the problem of men only being able to father a single child. Women, rare even among the rare, could have as many children as they could manage. It seemed the opposite of how nature normally worked ... Apparently, when they had been ‘given’ their blood magic, to ensure that they did not become too many in number and thus, too powerful, their ‘master’ had placed this odd jinx upon both clans.

(F/N) thought her brain would explode with all of this information, but she suppressed a knowing smile. Unfortunate though it was that her people were so scarce, she accepted that this was an effective way of controlling a population of powerful magical people, if the ones who could bolster their numbers only appeared once in a blue moon …

She was about to move on to the next section about Hekan magic when there was suddenly a lot of commotion in the dormitory. (F/N) snapped her book shut, stowed it safely in the little bookshelf above her desk and hurried outside to see what was going on. Professors Flitwick and Sinistra of the Astronomy department were carrying a student onto the ward – he was frozen solid.

“Oh no, not another one …” (F/N) gasped as she hurried over to help. Filius was going to try to levitate the boy – whom (F/N) recognised as Hufflepuff Justin Finch-Fletchley – onto the hospital bed next to Colin Creevey’s when (F/N) got to him, taking the boy’s shoulders and lifting him instead.

“Yes, right outside Minerva’s classroom,” said the little Charms teacher, shaking his head sadly. “Whoever — or whatever — is responsible for these attacks also got Nearly Headless Nick …”

_“What?!”_

Filius knew (F/N) was very fond of Nick and was therefore unsurprised by the look of horror that accompanied her concern for Justin. “Minerva had him floated upstairs with a large fan,” he said gravely. “He had turned completely black and his head was mostly off …”

(F/N) shook her head in sadness and disbelief. “Poor Nick …” she said. “A good job he’s already dead, I suppose, or it could have been a lot worse …”

Filius and Aurora (Professor Sinistra) nodded their agreement just as Minerva came sweeping onto the ward in a great hurry.

“I have taken Potter to the headmaster’s office …” she said, not having registered (F/N) standing there.

“Wait, why has Harry been taken there?” she asked, drawing the deputy headmistress’ attention.

“Oh, (F/N), I’m so sorry … I didn’t see you there …” said Minerva, sounding very out-of-breath. (F/N) supposed she _had_ been leaning over Justin when Minerva came in. “Potter was at the scene when Peeves shouted that there had been another attack …”

(F/N) closed her eyes and bowed her head slightly. This was not going to help Harry’s case at all. “Minerva, you know it couldn’t have been him …”

Minerva looked very sombre. “I told him it was out of my hands …” she said quietly. “We will just have to see what Albus says …”

The wait that came after that conversation was torture. It was nearly Christmas, and (F/N) could only imagine the worry that Harry must have felt when he was escorted to Dumbledore’s study. She struggled to focus on anything, let alone read her book again, so (F/N) flapped about on the ward making sure the Petrified people (and cat) were not physically hurt or deteriorating in any way. It wasn’t until quite late that same evening that Dumbledore paid her a visit personally, to tell her that Harry was not under suspicion for what had happened to Justin and Nick – or Colin and Mrs Norris, for that matter.

(F/N) let out an enormous sigh of relief. “I’m so glad to hear that …” she said in barely more than a whisper, her hand sitting just over her heart. Dumbledore smiled kindly at her.

“I can see the love you have for the boy, even now,” he said softly. “You have been very brave to have kept your secret, these last few months,”

(F/N) nodded, trying not to let her emotions get the better of her. Even in the face of some very trying times, recently, her feelings had not been so intense that they had begun to affect the weather, as they used to. In fact, being in her line of work enabled her to ‘let off steam’ fairly often and she didn’t find herself feeling as angsty and stir-crazy as she might have done in previous years.

“Professor …” she began gingerly, not wanting to bother him with any of her worries. “… I was thinking that I would like to send Harry a Christmas present, but … am I allowed?”

Dumbledore chuckled, his bright blue eyes glittering as he looked at her. “Of course, my dear, you are his godmother,” he said gently, and taking care not to speak too loudly. “Hagrid sends him gifts at Christmas as a friend, and I believe he sent him a birthday gift too, so why shouldn’t you?”

(F/N) smiled, feeling very happy about this indeed. She knew _exactly_ what she was going to do, now that she knew it was permitted. Dumbledore had watched (F/N)’s face light up at this news and thought, privately, that there ought to be more things to make the young woman smile because she positively glowed when she did. It was this thought that made him wonder how she was getting along with Severus, these days …

Dumbledore bade her goodnight and left her to her devices. (F/N) went to bed in a much better mood than she had been in before, and over the next few days she was of a noticeably cheery disposition despite the circumstances. On Christmas Eve, she snuck off to the kitchens to speak with the house-elves who were more than happy to let her use one of their ovens and a few bowls, trays and utensils so that she could make her Christmas present to Harry.

When he was little, she remembered, and when he had started eating solid foods, he had got his little hands on some cookies she had made for James and Lily. He had loved them because she made them in all kinds of different (edible) flavours, just like Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans. She made peppermint, cinnamon, ginger and honey, lemon and, of course, the most chocolatey chocolate cookies she could whip up.

When they were baked and had been given time to cool (she sat on the floor and chatted to the house-elves while she waited, rather than magically cooling them), she conjured a nice, Christmasy box to put them in and wrapped them in magical paper, in a red-and-white-striped candy-cane pattern. Then she used the Doubling Charm several times until she had enough to give to all of her friends.

She couldn’t have been more pleased if she tried.

She thanked the elves and returned to the hospital wing with the boxes of cookies floating along behind her, where she encountered Hagrid who had been waiting patiently for her to come back. He gave her a huge hug when she reached him, laughing about how small she was compared to him, before revealing the present he had brought for her but had been hiding behind his back.

“Go on, open it now!” he pushed excitedly. “I want to see what yeh think!”

It was an oddly-shaped little package, and (F/N) did as she was told. She pulled off the paper until, left in her hand, was a beautifully carved wooden ornament of a hippogriff. Tears pricked in her eyes and she looked up at Hagrid with the biggest smile he’d ever seen.

“Hagrid, it’s _fantastic …”_ she whispered, turning it over and looking at all of the little details. Everything, from the sharpness of its beak to the realness of its equine tail, was exquisite. She looked back to her friend and thanked him profusely, before noticing the blush he wore.

“Aw, I’m glad yeh like it,” he said. “Made it meself. Tried to make it look like Aeolus,”

(F/N) threw herself back at him and hugged him as hard as she could. “You’re too nice to me, Hagrid. Thank you so much,” she mumbled, amazed that he was so good at whittling. “Here, I made you something, too!” she added, pulling back and grabbing one of the boxes still floating behind her.

“Oh, not those cookies Lily made me try, once?!” said Hagrid enthusiastically, taking the box from (F/N)’s much-smaller hands. “Thank yeh, (F/N), that’s very kind!”

(F/N) laughed, flattered that Hagrid already knew what they were. “When _didn’t_ Lily ply people with food?” she said. “You liked them, then?”

“Did I ever! She wanted to pass ‘em off as ‘er own but couldn’t bring ‘erself to do it, in the end,”

The friends laughed together, remembering the good old days for the first time without any tears. Just then, she heard a _crack_ from somewhere off to the side and she turned to see what it was. Her bedroom door opened and there stood her father with a cheeky grin on his face.

“Hullo, Magnus!” said Hagrid cheerfully. “Wasn’t expecting to see yeh here! Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas to you too, Hagrid. It’s good to see you,” said Magnus warmly. “Hello, sweetheart,” he said to (F/N), coming over to give her a hug. “How’ve you been?”

“Well thanks, Dad,” she said, smiling up at him. “You?”

“Missed my pup,” he said affectionately, his blue eyes twinkling in the candlelight. Snow had begun to fall beyond the hospital windows again, casting spotty shadows around the room with the dying sunlight outside. “Do you still want to come home for Christmas?”

(F/N) had completely forgotten about that, but remembered that Vulcan, Haydn and Edith would also be visiting so she couldn’t miss it. Besides, she had missed Edith terribly and had been looking forward to reuniting with her for months.

“Oh, yes!” she said, nodding her head as enthusiastically as a child. “I’ve got a few things to sort out first, but then I’ll be ready?”

Magnus smiled at her. “Don’t worry, love, take all the time you need. I would just say to change into something comfier and grab a few bits and bobs before we leave, but I can bring you back whenever …”

His eyes had fallen on the Petrified students lying in their beds farther up the ward.

“… It looks like you’re needed,”

(F/N) gave him a sad look and nodded. “I won’t be long, I just need to deliver these …” she said, gesturing to the boxes of cookies. “I’ve made some for you and Mum, too. Oh …” She took one of the boxes and tapped it again, making two more copies. “These are for the Blythes,”

Magnus grinned. “You know, as sweet as this is, I’m sure they’re not expecting you to have made them Christmas presents …” he said, stacking the boxes under one arm.

“I don’t want them to feel like I’ve forgotten about them …”

“They won’t,” said Magnus with a chuckle. “You’ve been settling into a new job – a new _life._ Don’t be so hard on yourself,”

(F/N) was about to lapse into more self-deprecation when Hagrid stepped in. “Tell yeh what, (F/N), I could be Santa for yeh! I’ll take these wherever they need to go …”

(F/N) wished she was bigger so that she could hug him even harder than before. “Really? Are you sure? You really wouldn’t mind?”

“ _‘Course_ I don’t mind, (F/N)!” Hagrid laughed.

(F/N) was beside herself with gratitude and so, instead of telling Hagrid where everything needed to go, she magicked up labels for the boxes with everyone’s names on them. There was Harry’s, of course, and Hagrid already had his; (F/N) had made a box for Minerva, for Dumbledore and for Kettleburn. She put one aside for Poppy. She also had one each for Filius and Pomona. There was only one box left and she had thought of someone very specific as she looked at it. Were they still friendly enough for her to make a gesture like this?

She turned to Hagrid with the last box and said, “Anonymous delivery. You know where this needs to go …”

Hagrid gave her a knowing look and nodded. “Well, Merry Christmas, Castors! See you soon!” With that, he clumped out of the room in his thick, heavy boots, carrying the boxes of cookies.

“Merry Christmas, Hagrid!” (F/N) called after him. When he was out of sight, her expression softened and she said, “Bless him …”

Magnus put his arm around her and squeezed her gently to his side. “You’ve got lots of people looking out for you, (F/N),” he said kindly. “And before you say anything, Dumbledore knows you’re spending Christmas Day at home,”

(F/N) felt that particular worry lifting from her mind. She had wondered whether her parents had spoken to Dumbledore about that already, back when they had arranged with him for her to go and work at Hogwarts. “Okay, that’s good, then …”

Feeling more relaxed, (F/N) returned to her quarters to change her clothes and pack an overnight bag. As soon as she was ready her father came back in and together they Apparated back to Spindlewood Common, which was blanketed in as much snow as Hogwarts was.

“Why didn’t I just Apparate to Hogwarts with you in the first place?” (F/N) asked as she trudged up the snowy front path behind her father.

Magnus smiled as he unlocked the front door, ushering (F/N) inside first. “I think Dumbledore wanted to speak with you first, and make sure you were all right in yourself. Besides, it got you out in the fresh air, didn’t it?”

(F/N) smiled. “I guess so,” she said, stamping the snow off her shoes on the doormat. She slipped them off and wandered down the corridor looking for her mother. “Mum?” she called.

“In here, sweetheart!”

(F/N) turned around when she reached the kitchen and went back to the living room. The curtains were drawn and there was a fire burning merrily in the fireplace, and the room itself had been decorated with colourful fairy lights and tinsel. The old Christmas tree stood in the corner, as bright and glittery as ever. (F/N) felt like a little girl again and took off her coat and scarf, throwing them over the back of her old armchair.

Adhara was sitting on the sofa with her legs tucked underneath her and a blanket thrown over the top. She was holding a cup of tea, and on the coffee table were two more mugs – one with eggnog and the other with cocoa and marshmallows. (F/N) knew immediately that hers was the cocoa and grabbed it with a wide grin on her face before leaping onto the sofa next to her mother, giving her father an armchair all to himself.

“How was your first term?” said Adhara, smiling at her daughter and pulling her in for a cuddle.

“It was … interesting,” she said. “It was good, but a _lot_ went on,”

Her parents listened intently as she told them all about how pleased her colleagues were to see her and how they had all done a spectacular job of keeping her secret – so far. She was nervous about Lockhart, of course, because she wouldn’t have put it past him to somehow align himself with her resurrection. Adhara had been most intrigued to hear about Gilderoy Lockhart – although noticeably less so than other women (and girls) (F/N) had come across recently – but as soon as (F/N) went into any detail about him both Magnus and Adhara began tutting and saying that Lockhart sounded very arrogant indeed.

“You don’t know the half of it …” said (F/N) resignedly.

She told them about Severus, and about Harry … and about how Severus acted towards Harry, and how _that_ made her feel. She told them how she missed Lily desperately, but how Poppy and Minerva and Hagrid, in particular, had been so nice to her. Then she came to the part about the job itself and how much she enjoyed it, although she was concerned about this ‘Chamber of Secrets’ business …

Magnus glanced at Adhara, a look which (F/N) caught. “What?” she asked.

“Your mother and I heard stories about that being passed around the school when _we_ went to Hogwarts,” said Magnus. “The first time it was supposed to have been opened was about two years before I got there …”

(F/N) was surprised. “Really? How long ago was that?”

“Oh, that must be about fifty years ago, now …”

(F/N) glanced between her parents and gave them a little smile. “You two are looking pretty good for nearly-sixty-year-olds,”

They both smiled back at her. Adhara looked to Magnus for an explanation, though, which he was more than happy to give. “That’s the blood for you, darling,” he said, his eyes gentle on his only child. “It’s why you were preserved, even after years of death, and it’s why neither of us look our age …”

“But Mum’s not Hekan …”

“No, but it apparently extends to our spouses. A little birdie told me that it was because a spell went awry centuries ago — probably an attempt to bolster what we can already do — and this was the result. Makes it damn tricky to hide if someone knows your age but you only look half that number,” said Magnus, cynical towards the end of his comment. “I think the effect is much more potent if you’ve experienced death and come back while you’re still young, though,”

“But … what if you experience it when you’re _really_ young? Say, for example, a child. Would you always look like a child?”

Magnus smiled. He loved that his daughter was so inquisitive. “No, I think you grow up normally but you don’t really ‘age’ after reaching maturity. It doesn’t do us any favours where the Hounds are concerned, because they already think we’re monsters,”

(F/N) nodded slowly. “I have noticed things about myself, too … When I look in the mirror, I don’t look any different to how I did before I died. Haydn, for example, and Severus … They’re the same age as me, but they look more like what you would _expect_ a person to look like at thirty-two … They look more like _adults,_ ”

“ _You_ look like an adult, but you should count yourself lucky, darling,” said Adhara with a smile. “With your father’s genes, you probably won’t even look like you’re seventy when you get there,”

(F/N) laughed. “I doubt very much that I’ll look fresh-faced and bright-eyed at _seventy_ , but I like the idea,”

Magnus chuckled along with them. “I think there was a time, long ago, when people thought we were vampires because we didn’t seem to get any older. The thing that makes us age, though, is falling in love – something we find ridiculously easy to do,” He gave Adhara a meaningful look and she blushed like a schoolgirl.

(F/N) stopped to think about that for a moment. She had already loved two men in her life, so if what her father was telling her was true, she would have started ‘ageing’ a long time ago. “Let me guess ...” she said, raising an eyebrow at her father. “Another spell gone wrong?”

“So says the book, anyway,” laughed Magnus, leaning back in his chair. The firelight danced across his face and hair, making him look as though his head was on fire. “Legend has it that one of our ancestors got a bit full of themselves and sought more power than they already had ... Their dissatisfaction with their own abilities got the rest of us ‘cursed’ as a lovely little side effect; a bit unfair, really, but one bad apple spoils the bunch, as they say …” he went on. “So ... um ... I guess the moral of the story is, _“don’t fly too close to the sun” ..._ ”

(F/N) chuckled. A lot of things were beginning to make sense now, and she was glad to have some answers to old questions. It didn’t sit right with her that her whole family seemed to be ‘cursed’ as her father phrased it, but at least there was a limit to how far they could push themselves. She did wonder if there was any ‘higher power’ that could police them. “We should find out where they’re buried and tell them _‘thanks a bloody bunch’,”_

Magnus and Adhara laughed and took sips from their mugs. (F/N) decided to go and put her bag in her room and perhaps put her pyjamas on. They both watched her go, gazing fondly after her. It still didn’t quite seem _real_ that she was back, and that they were a family again.

“Did I explain things all right?” asked Magnus nervously.

Adhara smiled. “You did brilliantly, sweetheart,” she replied. “She’ll get used to things soon enough,”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is quite lore-heavy, and this is also where my own, original ideas come into play. I hope you like it nevertheless! <3

Christmas Day was a happy affair. Most of it was spent as a cosy, family day, but Vulcan, Haydn and Edith came to visit in the afternoon which (F/N) was overjoyed about. Magnus was the one who answered the door (as usual – “can never be too careful” is what he always said), and the room was filled with cheerful chatter and laughter aplenty. (F/N) heard Edith’s voice in the hallway, and poked her head out of the living room door to try and get a glimpse of her.

She nearly had her head taken off thanks to the speed at which Edith ran at her.

“Oh my god, _Ican’tbelieveit’sreallyyou!”_ she squealed, squeezing (F/N) so hard it was as though she was trying to juice her. When Edith pulled back, (F/N) saw that she was in tears.

“Hey, don’t cry …” she said softly, hugging her again. “Oh, it’s so good to see you again …”

Edith had lots of questions for (F/N), which she could thankfully now answer, and the ‘girls’ (as Haydn, Vulcan and Magnus called them) chatted long into the evening with Haydn eventually joining them. It suddenly felt remarkably like their school days and (F/N) loved every second of it.

“Haydn tells me that we’re to keep this all … hush-hush,” said Edith, glancing between her husband and her friend.

(F/N) gave her a sheepish smile. “Yeah, just for the time being …” she said. “I haven’t been able to even write to anyone, except you guys and my parents …”

Edith nodded in understanding. “You know, I’m surprised Lockhart hasn’t run his mouth yet. It seems like the sort of thing he’d love to draw attention to. The fact that _he_ ’s there, along with the famous Harry Potter and his godmother, who has long been believed to be dead …”

(F/N) laughed. “I’m surprised, too. I don’t know, though … I feel like he isn’t the one I should be keeping an eye on …”

The hair on the backs of Haydn and Edith’s necks prickled at the mere suggestion of one of (F/N)’s infamous ‘visions’. “You’ve got one of your hunches again, have you?” said Haydn quietly.

(F/N) shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe,” she replied, taking a sip of wine from her glass sitting nearby. “Who knows, these days?”

The Blythes looked at each other again. So many times, now, (F/N)’s instinct had been right. The futures she had seen had always been accurate. Neither of them reminded her of that, but they did wonder if she had _seen_ anything to make her think that she should have her wits about her.

The rest of the evening passed by in good spirits, and the two families played silly Christmas games into the night. Eventually, things began winding down as Haydn was sadly working the Boxing Day shift in his department at the Ministry and needed a sensible night’s sleep, and of course (F/N) also had to return to Hogwarts the following day.

“You’ve always been given to your work, no matter what it is,” said Edith fondly, giving (F/N) a hug at the door. “Keep safe,” she added, looking her in the eyes. “And make sure you write if you need anything – _absolutely anything,”_

(F/N) smiled at her and squeezed her hand. “I will,” she said softly. “And thanks. Make sure you do too, all right?”

Edith nodded cheerfully and went outside, her breath smoking in the bitter coldness. Haydn stooped down to hug (F/N) as well, rubbing her back in the warmest, friendliest manner. “Thank you for having us,” he said. “It was nice to be able to spend this time with you,”

“And you,” said (F/N) affectionately. “You’re welcome here anytime,”

Vulcan also hugged her goodbye, even though they’d only met a handful of times – once just before she began working at Hogwarts, and once (apparently) when she was a very small baby. “Give us a holler if you need help with anything, all right, (F/N)? You give your Uncle Vulcan a call,”

(F/N) laughed. “Do I have to call you that, now?” she said.

“Nah,” said Vulcan, chucking her under the chin as though she were only five years old. “I’m only teasing. But you might as well be my niece; your old dad and I, we’re better than brothers,”

(F/N) grinned at him. She really appreciated the sentiment, and she knew the lengths Vulcan had personally gone to in order to help protect her family. Besides, she felt much the same towards Harry as Vulcan did towards her; although she was Harry’s godmother, (F/N) and Lily had been better than sisters. She was reminded sharply of Lily telling her so, on more than one occasion.

She waved to the Blythes as they left, Apparating as a group from just outside the front gate, before heading back inside. She could see her father pushing the chairs back under the kitchen table, and her mother had just left the living room. Adhara stopped and smiled at her.

“Are you all right, love?” she asked softly, her voice perfectly matched to the gentle, lazy twinkling of the fairy lights decorating the house.

“Yeah …” said (F/N) with an equally relaxed, lazy smile. “I suppose I should be getting off to bed …”

Adhara walked up to her and gave her a soft, flowery hug. “Sleep well, darling. I hope you’ve had a nice day,”

“I have, thank you, Mum. It’s been lovely. I hope you’ve both had a good Christmas too,”

Magnus had just walked into the hallway and now joined his wife and daughter for a group hug. “I know we had you back with us last Christmas too, but this is the first _proper_ one we’ve had as a family,” he said.

(F/N) felt something pull in her chest but she smiled. It felt good – _really_ good – to feel so safe and warm and _loved_ again.

“We’ll see you in the morning, fairy,” said Adhara, letting (F/N) go. “Your dad will take you back whenever you’re ready,”

(F/N) nodded and started up the stairs. “Thank you,” she said, pausing halfway up. “For everything,”

They watched her go, Adhara with a hand on her chest and Magnus with his arm around his wife, smiles unwavering on their faces. Never had they imagined – _hoped,_ certainly, but they had never dreamed that they would come true – that they would all be together as a family. Magnus had gone on the run when (F/N) was just six weeks old, and so they had never known a family holiday together like this.

“Do you think she’ll be all right?” Adhara whispered as Magnus turned off the downstairs lights.

“She’ll be fine,” he murmured back, kissing Adhara’s cheek in the darkness as they made for the stairs themselves. “She’ll face some difficult times but, from what I’ve heard, she’s one of the most resilient women people have ever come across. However hard she may find it, she can weather any storm,”

Adhara nodded in the relative darkness – (F/N)’s bedroom light was on, and it filtered under her door providing a little brightness to the darkened landing. She smiled. “That’s what I was thinking, too,”

***

The next morning, Magnus delivered (F/N) safely back to Hogwarts in good time for her to pick up where she left off. Poppy greeted her with a smile and told her about their latest patient. Apparently, Harry and Ron had brought Hermione in the evening prior with bright yellow eyes, fur sprouting all over her face, ears sticking out through her hair and even a tail beneath her robes …

“Polyjuice?” (F/N) mouthed at Poppy, so that Hermione wouldn’t hear.

Poppy nodded with a slight roll of her eyes. “As usual, though, no questions asked,”

(F/N) agreed and set about unpacking her overnight bag, since Poppy had already given Hermione her morning dose of medicine. She hadn’t noticed before, because she had simply left her bag in the corner, said goodbye to Magnus, then headed out onto the ward to take a look at the ‘situation’ (there were no new Petrifications, she was relieved to see), but there was a little collection of Christmas presents on her desk.

There was, of course, the beautiful wooden sculpture of a hippogriff given to her by Hagrid, but she had also been given quite a few edible goodies, too. Minerva, for example, had given her a big tin of shortbread which (F/N) _knew_ had come from a shop that was local to where the deputy headmistress had grown up in Caithness – she told her about these particular biscuits frequently. Kettleburn had also given her a box of assorted sweet treats, all of them in the shape of an animal: Chocolate Frogs, Honeydukes Mice Pops and Ice Mice, Jelly Slugs and Peppermint Toads. (F/N) smiled – Kettleburn remembered her love of animals well.

Filius and Pomona had collaborated (as they so often did), to give (F/N) a gift that put an immovable smile on her face: a pot of beautiful, red poinsettias that waved and wished her “Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!”, grown by Pomona and charmed by Filius (of course). Lockhart had sent her a large Christmas card that was as extravagant as he was and had a moving portrait of himself on the front. Inside were “all of his well-wishes” and “hopes that all of her Christmas wishes come true” – all of which were read out in his voice when the card was opened, and at the part about wishes coming true, (F/N) incredulously turned to the front of the card to see the picture of Lockhart winking and waggling his eyebrows at her.

Concerned that he might be able to use the card to see into her room (although seriously doubting he had the magical aptitude to create an object that could do that), (F/N) put the card face-down on her desk until she could decide what to do with it … _once and for all._ She could hear his muffled protests as she carried on as normal.

Dumbledore had given her the most beautiful pair of winter gloves, and a matching scarf and set of earmuffs. They were scarlet and glittered with flecks of gold, but when (F/N) put them on experimentally, looking herself over in her mirror, she realised they weren’t that colour purely for the sake of her having been in Gryffindor. She realised the headmaster had used his magic to somehow craft the articles from phoenix down, the silky-soft feathers that Fawkes must have had when he was most recently a chick, and each item of clothing gave off a gentle, soothing heat. She loved them so much she didn’t want to take them off.

She came to the last two presents. One was from Poppy, and she had apparently had the same idea as (F/N), to make biscuits. The difference was, though, that when (F/N) took a bite of one to see what flavour they were, she discovered that Poppy had enchanted them with the Cheering Charm, which made her feel happy every time she ate one. The last gift came as a surprise to her, though …

It was a quill. A large, beautiful, ink-black feather, clearly taken from a hippogriff. It was from Severus, and as soon as (F/N) saw it she knew where he would have got it. She ran her finger along one of its edges, feeling the velvety-smooth perfection of the feather, and although she supposed all feathers would feel like this, it brought a very specific memory to mind.

This feather had once belonged to Aeolus.

With tears in her eyes, (F/N) wondered if Severus had been planning to give this to her all along or if it was a last-minute thing. In the end, she decided it didn’t matter and carefully wrapped it up again so that it wouldn’t get damaged. She would use it from now on, because it was by far the most beautiful quill she’d ever owned. When the light caught it just right, it glowed with a faintly blue iridescence.

(F/N) took another of Poppy’s biscuits and popped it whole into her mouth to stop the tears from spilling over at Severus’ gesture. She would make a point to thank everyone, of course, but she absolutely had to ask him if he’d seen the hippogriff lately. She changed her clothes to her uniform and, for a time, forgot about her anger towards Severus for how he treated Harry. She did wonder, though, if her godson had liked _his_ present.

She found out the answer to that question a couple of weeks later, after talking to Hermione one afternoon. (F/N) thought the girl fascinating, and thoroughly enjoyed talking about magic with her. For a second-year, she really was very knowledgeable and she loved answering the questions Hermione posed on a regular basis. Once or twice, Hermione asked if (F/N) could have a read of her homework to make sure it all made sense and was concise enough, a task which (F/N) relished. Little did she know, Poppy would sometimes watch the two from the doorway, smiling to herself as she thought what a good teacher (F/N) would make.

It was as (F/N) was checking up on their only conscious patient that particular afternoon, giving Hermione her lunchtime medicine and sharing some of Minerva’s shortbread with her, that Hermione told (F/N) that Harry had received a box of “amazing” cookies from someone at Christmas, but he had no idea who they were from. Apparently, he had also received a present last year but that hadn’t had a name on it, either. (F/N) smiled brightly as Hermione described how Harry had, of course, shared his biscuits but had tried for himself each flavour in turn, telling his friends how it reminded him of something he couldn’t place, perhaps from a long time ago …

Although there were other students coming in and out of the dormitory with various ailments (magic-related and otherwise) to keep (F/N) busy, Hermione left the hospital at the beginning of February, and (F/N) felt as though she had come to know the girl quite well, even in the space of a few short weeks. She was glad she was better now, but she had enjoyed her company and the intellectual conversations they had had. Less enjoyable, though, was Lockhart’s renewed interest in (F/N) and the ‘surprise’ he put together for the whole school that month …

(F/N) knew what was going to happen the moment she clapped eyes on Lockhart on the morning of Valentine’s Day. Severus was just coming up from the dungeons as (F/N) exited the hospital wing, making her way to breakfast, and they both spotted Lockhart swaggering into the Great Hall, dressed in robes so garishly pink they were actually nauseating. (F/N) and Severus shared a look that was equal parts horror and resignation, and dared themselves to push on into the Hall themselves. To their utter dismay and disgust, as soon as they both rounded the corner they were met with a terrible sight: Lockhart had decorated the Great Hall as gaudily as he had dressed himself that morning and, because of the ridiculous flowers covering the walls and the heart-shaped confetti falling from the enchanted ceiling, everything seemed bathed in a very boisterous shade of pink as well.

“You have _got_ to be joking …” (F/N) heard Severus mutter just behind her.

“Well, at least this proves he’s capable of _some_ charms and conjurations …” said (F/N) quietly, forcing her feet to move.

“Don’t you remember when he carved his signature into the Quidditch pitch as a student?” Severus replied. “Or when he sent _himself_ so many Valentines they cancelled breakfast?”

(F/N) smirked. Of course she remembered – who could forget? They all went to their lessons hungry that day. “What about that spell he made that shot a hologram of his own face into the sky?”

Severus shuddered. “We should keep our voices down. Wouldn’t want him to think we’re revelling in his ‘accomplishments’ …”

(F/N) sniggered at his sarcasm and went to find a seat as far from Lockhart as possible. Thanks to (F/N)’s quiet laughter, Severus had to keep a smile from showing on his face in case Lockhart thought it was for him, or his antics. Hagrid and Kettleburn (who (F/N) still did not call ‘Silvanus’ because it seemed far too serious for him) then walked in with Pomona and very helpfully grabbed the seats either side of (F/N) so that Lockhart couldn’t. He did, however, keep grinning and winking at her as he stood in front of the entire school, waiting for everyone to come in and settle down so that he could make a speech.

Almost everyone was gathered in the Hall for breakfast but Harry hurried in slightly late. He sat down and, (F/N) noticed, was as horrified by the décor and Lockhart’s attire as Ron was. Hermione was sat next to the boys as usual, but she looked a little red in the cheeks and was smiling in the same way a lot of other girls were. Lockhart went on to explain what he’d done and why, and gave details of the _other_ things he’d planned for the day.

‘Friendly cupids’ would be moving around the school giving people their Valentines throughout the day – Lockhart thanked the forty-six people who had sent him Valentines _already_ – and he then proceeded to embarrass Filius by telling everyone that he was the expert on Entrancing Enchantments. He dragged Severus into the fray by suggesting to the students that they ask him to show them how to brew a Love Potion. Severus looked savage.

When he had finished his tirade (at long last), (F/N) leaned over to Kettleburn and asked quietly, “Why on earth would a grown man be pleased to receive forty-six Valentines from teenagers?”

He laughed and promptly choked on his crumpet. Minerva, who until that moment had looked thoroughly irritated by Lockhart, tried very hard to suppress a smile as she watched Kettleburn laughing at whatever (F/N) had just said.

“I don’t think it’s _that …_ ” spluttered Kettleburn. “… but rather the fact that he’s getting a lot of attention …”

(F/N) grinned. She knew that, of course; she was just feeling cheeky _._ “It just seems odd, is all. I’d rather one Valentine from someone I could swoon and giggle about – _my_ _own age –_ than several from people I’m old enough to mother …”

As it turned out, that was _exactly_ what (F/N) was confronted with throughout the day. She had no idea where all of these cards were coming from, but she had one of Lockhart’s ‘cupids’ on the ward delivering Valentines to her every couple of hours. Poppy found it very irritating at first, because it was cluttering her immaculate ward, but eventually she started to see the funny side – which (F/N) herself was apparently immune to.

“Oh, this is embarrassing …” she said, carrying two more Valentines to her quarters and putting them in a drawer. “Sweet, but embarrassing …”

“Ah, the curse of the young and beautiful …” said Poppy, putting the stopper back in a glass bottle of medicine she had been holding. “You might not have been here very long, (F/N), but you’re already a favourite at Hogwarts,”

(F/N) snorted incredulously. “I doubt it …”

“Well, the proof has been streaming in through those doors all day long,” said Poppy with a chuckle. “Thankfully you’ve not received as many as Lockhart, although I did wonder how many of those ‘forty-six’ were actually from himself …”

(F/N) laughed out loud. “Poppy, if he’d sent any to himself then there would have been a whole lot more …”

Later that afternoon, (F/N) received a card from the man himself, which once again featured a talking, moving picture of the man’s face. Every time he smiled a little star glinted on his ridiculously pearly teeth and a phantom breeze blew his curly blond hair as though to make him look dashing. To top it all off, Lockhart had enchanted _this_ card so that (whenever she opened it) he would start singing ‘Never Gonna Give You Up’ by the Muggle singer Rick Astley.

_“A full commitment’s what I’m thinking of. You wouldn’t get this from any other guy. IIIIIIIIIII JUST WANNA TELL YOU HOW I’M FEELING ...”_

(F/N) very decisively stowed it away in her wardrobe and heard Lockhart’s picture give an indignant little cry (“Hey!”) as she locked him out of sight (and mind).

As soon as (F/N) had received the card she had known who it would be from on account of the lilac and gold envelope it arrived in, so she rushed off to her room to open it in case it was some strange variety of Howler that would explode into song if she didn’t. When she heard the actual singing coming from (F/N)’s room, Poppy put her head around the door and said, “Ooh, was that Rick Astley? I like him …”

“You’d go right off him if you heard Lockhart trying to imitate him …” said (F/N) at the time, snapping the card shut and holding it tightly as though that would stop it from singing.

“It didn’t actually sound too bad from outside …” said Poppy thoughtfully. “Maybe there’s a career for him in music?”

(F/N) shuddered at the thought. “Don’t even go there. I wouldn’t inflict him on anyone … He may have sounded all right when muffled by stone walls and a solid door, but if you’re listening ‘live’ … dear _Merlin_ …”

Poppy laughed.

The affair was quickly forgotten as winter turned to spring, and as Pomona informed the ladies in the hospital wing that the Mandrakes were growing up nicely. By March, she had begun to expect them to start trying to move into each other’s pots – an idea that made (F/N) feel very peculiar, given that they were supposed to be plants – but this gave all of the staff a new surge of hope for the Petrified students (and cat). They would soon be cured, and everyone heaved a great sigh of relief.

The nurses began their preparations for the Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff Quidditch match very soon after, which gave them something other than Petrification to think about. (F/N) prepared her usual medicines while Poppy made sure they had enough of the things the school usually bought in, while taking care of anyone who came in with other ailments in the meantime. By the time Quidditch weekend had arrived, everything was ready to go.

It was a bright, clear, sunny day with only a slight breeze; perfect, in other words, for zooming about on broomsticks. (F/N) was, once again, to go out and watch the game and be the first responder to any accidents or injuries (this time, she was _determined_ that Lockhart wouldn’t get there before her). She was just on her way out of the castle, however, when Minerva rushed past her carrying a large, purple megaphone. She stopped briefly and gave (F/N) the saddest look she had seen in a long while.

“Ah, (F/N), I’m glad I bumped into you …” she said. “The match is cancelled –,”

(F/N) didn’t need to be told what had happened. Minerva’s distress was evident, and that, in (F/N)’s mind, could only mean one thing. “Another attack …?” she said, her voice a whisper almost carried away on the breeze.

Minerva nodded and blinked fiercely. “A _double_ attack. I must call this match off, and find Potter and Weasley …” she replied.

(F/N)’s stomach dropped. “I’ll get back up to the ward …” she blurted, turning on her heels and hurrying back to the hospital wing. She knew what she was about to walk into …

Sure enough, when she arrived, there was Poppy hurriedly tending to two Petrified girls. One of them was Penelope Clearwater, a Ravenclaw Prefect. The other, however, was the one (F/N) had dreaded seeing the most: Hermione Granger. She went straight to her bedside and pulled the sheets up over her rigid body – (F/N) and Poppy suspected the Petrified victims could still get cold – before taking a long, hard look at the girl’s stony face. She wore an expression of shock.

(F/N) tried very hard to remain professionally detached, but she had long since begun to understand the ability of a member of staff to become fond of the students who relied on them. She had seen to many students in the half-year she’d been at the school, and she had tried not to pick favourites but that had been quite impossible. (F/N) supposed it was probably because Hermione was one of Harry’s best friends, and with Harry being her godson, that was likely to be part of the reason she had taken a shine to the girl, but the longer she spent considering her condition, the harder it became to forget the little conversations they had had just over a month ago …

“I know it’s hard …” said Poppy softly, glancing over at (F/N). “I’m beginning to feel traumatised by all of this, too …” She, too, pulled a sheet over Penelope Clearwater so that only her upper body could be seen.

Just then, the doors opened again and Minerva walked in talking to someone. When she reached Hermione’s bedside, (F/N) remembered who it was Minerva said she had to fetch from the Quidditch stadium. Harry and Ron looked utterly stricken, and (F/N) had to excuse herself. It was too much to see them looking so distraught. Minerva asked the boys about a mirror one of the Petrified girls had been carrying when they were attacked, but neither of them knew anything about it. When Minerva left, the boys stayed a little while, talking quietly to each other and keeping Hermione company as though she were aware of having visitors. Eventually, (F/N) plucked up the courage to talk to them herself.

“I’m sorry you boys had to see this …” she said. “How are you both holding up?”

Harry gave her a weak smile, but she appreciated his effort to smile at all. “We’re all right, thanks,” he replied. “… Just shocked,”

“I can only imagine …” she murmured, giving him a very sympathetic look. “I promise you, though, a cure is not far away. We’ll have Hermione – and everyone else – back to normal in a jiffy,”

The boys nodded and their gazes returned to Hermione. When they eventually had to leave the hospital wing, (F/N) was given cause to _really_ smile, even in those dark hours. Ron had apparently forgotten that they lived in a castle, and castle halls and corridors tended to echo and amplify sound unlike anywhere else – unless, (F/N) thought, he had intentionally not lowered his voice – because she overheard him saying to Harry, “Madam Castor’s nice, isn’t she? She’d make a wicked teacher …”

“Yeah,” said Harry much more quietly, but the smile palpable in his voice. “She’s lovely,”

(F/N) turned, smiling like a loon, to return to her room but spotted Poppy standing in the doorway of her own. She looked like the cat that ate the canary.

“What are you looking so pleased for?” (F/N) said teasingly.

“If only you could see your face, smiling like that,” said Poppy affectionately. “I knew you’d go down a treat at this school, when Albus said you’d be working here, and now look … Valentines notwithstanding, the students seem to _love_ you,”

“I don’t know about that …” said (F/N) bashfully. “They just said I’m nice …”

Poppy rolled her eyes but she still wore a playful smile. “You always think so little of yourself …” she tutted. “But then, I’ve heard that’s always been true of you,”

***

The events in the weeks to come did not make things any easier for anyone at Hogwarts. Students were escorted between each of their lessons by a teacher, and were not even allowed to go to the bathroom without being accompanied. All extracurricular activities, including Quidditch training and matches, were postponed or cancelled, and a six o’clock curfew was imposed, after which point the staff patrolled the corridors in pairs. They had never known anything like it.

In Poppy and (F/N)’s case, the former remained in the hospital wing with the Petrified students at night, doors locked, while (F/N) partnered one of her other colleagues to stand sentinel in the corridors. It went like this for quite some time, working in the hospital by day and prowling the rest of the school by night, but there suddenly came an evening that seemed to change everything for (F/N). She had just teamed up with Kettleburn (patrols with him were by far the most fun, if, given the circumstances, that were possible) when Minerva came hurrying up to them with Severus and Aurora in tow.

“Ah, (F/N), I’m glad we caught you before you could get too far …” said the Head of Gryffindor, looking slightly flustered. (F/N) wondered if she had perhaps been worried they wouldn’t cross paths in time for her to impart her news. “Albus has asked that you return to the hospital wing for tonight. Severus will replace you as Silvanus’ partner …”

(F/N) glanced at Severus and then at Kettleburn, to see that both of them looked just as confused as she felt. Aurora seemed unperturbed but that, (F/N) realised, was because she was obviously Minerva’s ‘buddy’. As she moved from Kettleburn’s side, Severus filled in for her as Minerva stated but he and (F/N) shared another mildly perplexed look. That was until Minerva said, as (F/N) passed her, “On account of your … _condition,”_

This made a little more sense to (F/N) but there were still questions on her mind. “What about it?” she asked. “Am I hiding from someone?”

The other three teachers’ gazes were on her and Minerva, eagerly expecting an answer too. Minerva glanced around them to make sure no one else could be listening in and said, “Fudge is here,”

“Fudge?”

“Yes, he is the Minister for Magic now …”

“I-I know, Haydn Blythe told me a while ago …” said (F/N) uncertainly, earning herself some very curious looks to replace the confused ones.

It was getting rather dark now, and (F/N) was beginning to feel as though she should either be back in the hospital wing as asked, or roaming the corridors with her colleagues to _protect — the — school. Why_ did Fudge have to be there to make things difficult? Still, she understood what Dumbledore was trying to do, and appreciated it.

(F/N) sighed. “Very well,” she said at last. “I’ll go now. I suppose people know …?”

“Not everyone, but there is no reason for anyone to mention your name if they bump into the Minister,” said Minerva gently. “Albus did tell me everything, though, and you can rest assured that the Ministry will not discover you tonight …”

“Oooh …” said Kettleburn playfully. “Not playing fugitive, are you, (F/N)?”

(F/N) grinned at him. She had told him all she knew of her ‘condition’ herself, and she suspected that Severus – as someone who had known her before her death _and_ was one of Hogwarts’ House Heads – had also been informed of at least some of the intricacies of her situation, so she was not concerned about either of them overhearing any of this.

“No, sir. We’re just trying to avoid any nosy questions for the time being,”

Kettleburn chortled, clearly feeling happier now that he was ‘in’ on the ‘big secret’. He turned to his partner and said, “Well, Severus, m’boy, we should probably head off now!” He pivoted again to face the three witches and gave them a jerky little bow and a squeaky wave of his artificial hand, bidding them ‘goodnight’. “Ladies,” he said.

Severus resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he followed Kettleburn down the corridor, giving his colleagues a very small nod before taking his leave. (F/N) looked both ways up the corridor again and gave Minerva and Aurora a quick, sunny smile. “I suppose I should make tracks, too,” she murmured. “Stay safe, won’t you?”

“Of course, dear,” said Minerva. “Please be careful – I know you haven’t far to go, but …”

(F/N) gave a small chuckle, a light, tinkling noise that seemed to be the sound of magic itself. “I’ll be all right,” she said. “If worse comes to worst, I’ll probably just be resurrected again,”

Minerva swatted her and cried out, “Don’t say things like that …!”

(F/N) laughed again, trying to make light of the situation (heavens knew she needed a _little_ mirth in her life, since she was reminded every day that she no longer walked these halls with her best friend and the world seemed a mess). If she was going to make fun of anyone in those trying times, she wanted it to be herself. She also bade her colleagues goodnight and made straight for the hospital wing. As soon as she arrived she unlocked the doors herself, went straight inside and locked them behind her again.

She breathed a sigh of relief. All of the students were safe and, much less importantly but still a good thing, Fudge had not seen her. The _last_ thing she needed was to be packed off to the Ministry for questioning when she could be at Hogwarts, doing something useful.

Poppy came hurrying out of her room at the sound of the doors opening and closing, but lowered her wand when she saw who it was.

“(F/N)?” she said, looking her up and down for injuries. “Are you all right? Why did they send you back?”

“Minister for Magic’s at the school,” said (F/N) simply. “Professor Dumbledore doesn’t want him to see me. I suppose there will be all kinds of trouble if he does,”

Poppy tutted sympathetically. “As long as you’re all right and no one else is hurt,” she said. “You’ll probably have to face the Ministry sooner or later, though …” she added wisely. “You can’t live out the rest of your life in hiding,”

“I know …” said (F/N), feeling guilty for hiding at all. “I think, at this stage, Professor Dumbledore and my parents want to keep my return quiet. Of course, all of our colleagues know but I don’t think it would be sensible to distract the Ministry at this moment in time …”

Poppy nodded. “Well, I think all we can do for this evening is keep an ear out for trouble …”

(F/N) agreed. They both returned to their rooms for the evening, knowing there would be no admissions to the hospital unless – Merlin forbid – one of the teachers needed medical assistance. (F/N) settled down to read her book again and came to the section that described Hekan powers. She began to think that their kind – specifically _hers_ – were inherently what other witches and wizards would call ‘Dark magic users’ because all of their inborn gifts were what could be considered ‘blood magic’ – hardly the sort of magic taught in schools or everyday books, _especially_ the kind of necromancy the Celtic Hekans were capable of.

More and more was beginning to click into place, such as her influence over the elements (common to all Hekans), but also her ability to transform into any animal at will, as well as her father’s ability to Apparate anywhere he fancied. Certain things from her past were occurring to her as strange, though. For example, she had just read that one Hekan race was known to produce exceptional seers, but that all Hekans had the potential to manifest powers of other races in addition to their own blood magics …

Moran came to mind. He most certainly was not of African heritage, but he fit the bill insofar as being one of these ‘exceptional seers’ – his handling of all things to do with Divination was effortless. Still, (F/N) thought, how likely was it that she had been in contact with another of their kind for all that time but never knew? She dismissed the thought, although it lingered in the back of her mind, and returned to focus on her satisfaction of having discovered the reason she had ‘learned’ to shape-shift and affect the weather.

She flicked back to the beginning of the book, since the story to be found there was now much easier to understand:

_“In ancient times, when magical and non-magical peoples lived in harmony, there existed in the mysterious lands of Egypt a cult of priests and priestesses devoted to the god Heka – the deification of magic and medicine. These early witches and wizards used their own magics in many rites and rituals, and also the worship of other ancient gods and goddesses, for their gifts were not unheard of at the time. With their ability to call the rains and summon the sun, they did the gods’ bidding and flooded the Nile, encouraged crops to grow, banished illness and malcontent and blew the very sands in the eyes of their enemies._

_As time went on, the Cult of Heka slowly disbanded as its people moved on in search of stability, for there were no other cult followings of the god outside of their group. Some moved deeper into Africa, braving the desert, and became known as great seers. Others moved to Europe and made it their home, whereas some among their numbers pushed farther still into the East. Eventually, some ‘Hekans’ even reached the Americas. In time, they each developed hereditary powers that became symbols of their ‘race’. However, being that they all hailed from the same ancestral land, all Hekans shared their powers over the elements, and a tendency to inherit ‘blood magic’ from their distant cousins, thanks to their common link to Heka._

_For a time, though, a very small group remained in Egypt and therefore faithful to the Old Ways. They were faithfuls of Heka, but also of Osiris – the god of life, death, resurrection and the afterlife. As the land changed, so too did its people, and these Hekans found themselves moving northwards. They sailed to the lands of the Greeks, where they found their old master had followed — only the peoples of Greece called him ‘Hades’. Faithful as ever, and eternally respectful of death (being an important part of life) the Hekans continued their practices, although much more discreetly than before, for witchcraft was not always welcome in their new land._

_Yet more time passed, and the nomadic Hekans found themselves pushed on from the home they found in Ancient Greece. They wandered and wandered, until they finally sailed again, reaching the cool, green lands of Albion. There, they moved to the West, integrating with the peoples there and adopting their name: the Celts. Although they merged seamlessly with the natives of the land, the Celtic Hekans continued to pay their respects to the elements of life and death with their ancient magic._

_One day, the then-leader of the Hekans was approached by a person cloaked entirely in black, and they could not see their face but they sensed that they were, in fact, standing before Death himself. The reason for his visit was simple: to reward the Hekans for their unwavering loyalty to — and respect for — his power. Thus, he bestowed upon them the power to raise the recently deceased, to compliment their innate healing magic. However, this boon – gifted by the immortal to the mortal – naturally came at a price: Death would place their kind under a spell, so that their numbers could not grow too large or too quickly, lest they become too powerful or even dangerous, and a toll would be paid upon each visit to the underworld._

_The Hekans accepted the gift graciously, acknowledging their master’s decisions. The gift proved useful and was held in extremely high esteem, but as time went on the Hekans began to face numerous threats to their existence. A new cult emerged, intent on destroying their kind for being necromancers, and over the years there were naturally some among their number who sought greater power for them all, but their efforts served only to curse them …_

_Attempts at eternal life were partially successful, but an unforeseen side effect made them more susceptible to the very thing that would prevent them from living forever: love. Efforts to increase the power of their blood magic resulted in potentially harmful magical outbursts, caused by extreme emotion or overexertion. The Hekans also discovered that to bring someone back from the dead was not something that could be done without performing the proper rituals, and following Death’s ‘rules’ – all were put in place so that they could not become foolish, or arrogant, in their power._

_So it was that the Hekans learned to live with their gifts and their curses, but became the rarest, most cautious and most secretive of Heka’s original priests and priestesses. In the world of magic, however, witches and wizards are advised to remember that while these ancient people call Death ‘Master’, he is as much of an ally of theirs as Life is to all who walk the earth.”_

(F/N) liked this story. Not simply because it explained her family’s origins in a broader historical context, but because of its impersonal reassurance that those things she always believed to be her own fault and her own shortcomings were actually misfortunes known to ‘run in the family’. She wondered how many others with their blood had experience of the malediction that was loss of control and subsequent magical outburst. Suddenly, it seemed to her that this ‘curse’ was like an illness. It wasn’t the fault of the generations who came after the one who inflicted it upon their people, but it still affected them ...

That led her to think about Harry, and where he could possibly have gained the ability to talk to snakes. She knew James had come from a pure-blood family, but there was no way of knowing if he was truly related to Salazar Slytherin in some way or another. Knowing she would reach only dead ends if she continued to ponder the numerous possibilities surrounding her godson’s peculiar talent, she instead directed her attention to the strange and terrible goings-on at the school.

 _The heir of Slytherin_ , she thought to herself, _could talk to snakes as their ancestor did._ The legend went that Slytherin would only accept pure-blooded witches and wizards at the school, as Muggle-borns were ‘unworthy’ to study magic. He left the school following a disagreement with Godric Gryffindor, but not before he supposedly built a chamber, hidden somewhere in the school. In this chamber he sealed a monster, one that could only be awakened when Slytherin’s true heir returned to the school, at which point it would come forth and purge the school of its Muggle-born witches and wizards …

A horrible tale, and an atrocious thought, but (F/N) – like everyone else – wondered just what sort of creature they were talking about, here. She mentioned it to Poppy the following morning, because she was sure – having thought about it long and hard – that she knew what it was. She just couldn’t prove it.

“So, you think it’s a serpent?” said Poppy, as they walked to the staff room for the meeting that had been called.

“Well, it seems a sensible guess,” (F/N) replied. “Slytherin himself was a Parselmouth, and the animal on his crest is a snake,”

“But how is it attacking people?”

(F/N) had an answer for that too, given her affinity for animals and creatures (seemingly of all kinds). She wondered that Hagrid and Kettleburn hadn’t thought of these things, either. “I think it’s a Basilisk, Poppy. Basilisks kill with their gaze, but no one has actually _looked at it_ yet. That’s why they’ve all been Petrified,”

Poppy looked horrified, but they had just come to the staff room door. Beyond the door leading outside, (F/N) could see Kettleburn making his way up to the castle, too. “I suppose it makes sense …” said Poppy carefully, and quietly. She still looked rather unconvinced despite her words. “But … how has nobody spotted it yet? Except for its victims, of course …”

(F/N) didn’t know, and her expression suggested as much. She didn’t intend to tell anyone else her theory because of that very question. Why _had_ nobody seen it? Basilisks were huge – or could be – and if all this was true then that would make the monster at least a thousand years old. That was a long time for the creature to spend alone and undisturbed, growing to a potentially enormous size …

The nurses went inside, followed moments later by Kettleburn who had just reached the room himself. Minerva and Pomona were already there, and as the three new arrivals settled in for the meeting the room quickly filled with the remainder of the staff. Lockhart, as usual, was last to arrive, dressed in his favourite lilac robes and his hair as bouncy as ever. Fashionably late, (F/N) supposed he would call himself.

There was a very palpable weight to the atmosphere, however, and it did not take (F/N) long to realise that neither Dumbledore nor Hagrid were there – and both of them were very noticeable people. Poppy turned to the deputy headmistress and said, “Minerva, where is Professor Dumbledore?”

“That is why I called you all here this morning,” said Minerva jerkily. “As I am sure you are all aware, Cornelius Fudge came to the school yesterday evening to address the matter of all these attacks on students –,”

“And my cat,” said Filch tearfully.

“Yes, Argus, and Mrs Norris,” said Minerva as patiently as she could. “As some of you may be aware, when the Chamber of Secrets was opened fifty years ago a student died. The finger of blame, however, was pointed at our very own gamekeeper, Hagrid, and he was expelled …”

(F/N) knew this because Hagrid had told her himself the story of how he got expelled from Hogwarts. It was because they thought Aragog was the monster responsible for the death of that girl, but (F/N) knew as well as Hagrid did that Acromantulas couldn’t Petrify or kill anyone in the manner they said that girl had died. Minerva went on to explain that Fudge believed Hagrid’s record was against him, although she and Dumbledore – and, indeed, most of the other staff – had the utmost faith in Hagrid. Still, Fudge had apparently stated that he needed to be seen to be doing _something,_ and if all the mystery surrounding these attacks was to be resolved then he would be released with a full pardon …

“Released?” (F/N) squeaked. “… They haven’t taken him to _Azkaban?”_

Minerva looked at (F/N) sadly, knowing how much it would hurt her to hear this. “Unfortunately, yes. We _all_ know Hagrid is a good man, and morally incapable of doing something like this –,”

She was interrupted again by a small snort of incredulity coming from Lockhart’s direction. (F/N) turned to glare at him with such ferocity that a few of the other teachers thought she might set fire to the room with the heat of the look she gave him.

“Is something funny, Gilderoy?” said Minerva sharply. Her tone (and (F/N)’s glare) somehow did not deter Lockhart from smirking as though he had won some sort of competition.

“Oh no, Minerva, not at all,” he said, although he continued to smile as though something was indeed very humorous. “I was just thinking to myself that I hit the nail on the head once again,”

(F/N) looked murderous. Severus snuck a glance at her and was suddenly under no illusions as to why some of the Death Eaters had feared her so. She was beginning to shake and, in spite of her efforts to control herself, the wind had picked up outside.

Minerva continued to regard him with a questioning stare, daring him to elaborate although she was quite sure he would meet a very swift and messy end at (F/N)’s hands if he didn’t choose his words carefully.

“Well, you know how it is!” said Lockhart as though it were obvious. “He’s always out there, mucking about with all manner of dangerous beasts, and the man himself –,”

“What about him?” (F/N) growled, interrupting him this time. Everyone glanced at her nervously; her voice had the low, rolling rumble of a very angry cat. If she had a tail it would be swishing furiously from side to side.

“N-nothing, nothing …” said Lockhart, as though he wasn’t going to say anything in the first place. Everyone knew better. “I just always knew there was something _off_ about him, and I’m sure the Minister for Magic wouldn’t have taken him away unless he was one hundred per cent sure it was him …”

“You haven’t been listening to a word Minerva said, have you, about taking Hagrid as a _precaution?”_ (F/N) snapped. A few people flinched, including Lockhart. “I suppose it must be hard to hear anything at all over the sound of your own voice, congratulating you in your own little world about all your ‘good deeds’ and ‘heroic exploits’. We’re talking about a _colleague,_ here, and all you’re interested in is yourself … ”

A few people coughed or cleared their throats to disguise their amusement, but despite wincing before at the razor-sharp tone of (F/N)’s voice Lockhart seemed perfectly at ease once more. “Now, now, that’s quite unnecessary, (F/N),” he said jovially, shrugging off the anger she directed towards him. “There’s no need for jealousy –,”

 _“Excuse_ me?”

“Well, the fact that you brought up my reputation speaks volumes, my dear!” he declared with a sickening smile. “I mean, we’ve all heard about your scuffle with the Dark Lord back in the day, but it was _me_ that Professor Dumbledore hired as a teacher – not you – which _I_ think proves my aptitude. _And,_ since I _survived_ all of my battles –,” There were several horrified gasps as he went on … and on … and on. “– that is also testament to the soundness of my judgement, used many times in sussing out my foes and which I have also used in (correctly) deeming Hagrid suspicious,”

(F/N) looked to be about two seconds away from killing him on the spot. Severus, too, felt overwhelming compelled to strangle him with the cords of his garish cape. Many others found themselves wishing a painful fate on the foolish, boastful, lilac-clad buffoon, and Minerva in particular wore an expression of incredible fury. Lockhart looked very pleased with himself, clearly feeling as though he had had the last word. When he said no more, (F/N) sneered at him and hissed, “It seems that this legendary judgement of yours was clouded when you decided to open your mouth today, Lockhart. _Silencio,”_

Just like that, Lockhart said no more. Not even a muffled complaint left him, even as he struggled to perform a counter-jinx. He stood up in a fluster and left the room. (F/N) turned back to Minerva, steeling herself as she forced Lockhart’s words from her mind. “I’m sorry, I got carried away,” she said. “Hagrid is a friend to everyone, of course, but …”

Everyone else was struggling to overlook Lockhart’s insult as easily as (F/N) appeared to have done. Minerva shook her head adamantly and said, “You do not need to apologise, (F/N). You did not deserve such abuse, and I think I speak for everyone when I say that. Hagrid will, I am sure, be delighted to know that you defended him so readily,”

It was not just that, though. What everyone had really seen was a near-perfect, live example of the sort of ferocity with which (F/N) would fight for her friends. It was chilling, to be sure, and not a single person in that room was immune to the effects of her display. Severus, in particular, was haunted by it; he was visited by memories of standing with her not long before her death, on an overpass near an abandoned Muggle house, when he warned – no, _begged_ – her to go into hiding. He had known at the time that she would not heed him, although he had hoped that she would, and the thought of what happened to her was still agonising for him to think about.

It was the sight of her defending Hagrid so fiercely, though, that reminded him of the loyalty she had shown all of her friends. Always Lily, from the beginning of their friendship until the ends of their lives, and even beyond; Blythe, throughout all of Nolan’s bullying and well into their adult years; Black, as they fought together for the Order and most especially at the Ministry; Potter, whose death was so upsetting to her that it fuelled her anger, which she then channelled in her final battle. As for him, the reminders of how she always used to stand beside him were sharper than needles; she had been there during some of his darkest hours, never judging and always understanding, even if she didn’t support his ‘values’.

He suddenly felt ashamed. It also inspired in him a hatred of Lockhart that he had never thought it possible to feel, purely because of his insults.

Severus snapped back to reality as Minerva also had the unhappy task of breaking the news that Dumbledore had been suspended by the school governors, who apparently felt that he had ‘lost his touch’. There was outcry in the staff room as some people exclaimed that things would surely fall apart without the headmaster there. Minerva looked slightly affronted by this, but (F/N) could tell that she, too, felt very nervous about these events and what they meant for the school. (F/N) was sure that Lucius Malfoy would have had something to do with Dumbledore’s suspension, given that she had recently learned that he was one of the twelve governors himself.

“All we can do is what we’ve been doing all along,” said (F/N) wisely, once the pandemonium had died down. “And that is our very best,”

Minerva smiled at her. “I couldn’t have said it better myself, (F/N) – thank you,”

(F/N) could tell, despite that smile, that Minerva was still extremely distressed. The meeting was concluded, with all members of staff being instructed to continue as they had been, and everyone made their way back to their classrooms or quarters. Nobody was about to hunt Lockhart down to tell him the rest of what had been discussed, but nearly everyone smarted on (F/N)’s behalf from what the pompous DADA teacher had said to her.

Back in the hospital wing, Poppy was busily checking on the Petrified victims as though they would not have been safe enough being locked in as they were, while she and (F/N) were at the meeting. (F/N) had distracted herself with writing new labels for some of the older bottles and containers in the room, on account of some of them having faded or otherwise deteriorated with age. Poppy was debating whether or not to ask (F/N) if she was all right, in case she didn’t want to talk about what happened at all. Whatever her decision may have been, however, she was stopped in her tracks when she heard someone else enter the ward. She looked up and saw Severus standing there, a little awkwardly, watching (F/N) with slight apprehension.

When Severus met Poppy’s questioning gaze, he nodded briefly in (F/N)’s direction. Poppy nodded back, although she was still unsure of whether speaking to (F/N) about Lockhart’s comment was a good idea.

(F/N) looked up and spotted Severus too. “Oh, hello …” she said, in a tone that suggested she was genuinely surprised to see him. “Ah, yes … Wait just a moment …”

Severus was confused as he watched (F/N) whisk off to one of the back rooms, and then as she returned with a very large bottle of Wiggenweld Potion. She handed it to him and said, “We had quite a few casualties following one of Professor Kettleburn’s lessons last week, and we had to use the Wiggenweld you had in your stores as well as our own,” Poppy harrumphed loudly – ‘dangerous subjects’ were the bane of her existence, although (F/N) had to give Kettleburn his due; it wasn’t his fault that one student had upset the Fire Crab they were studying, to the point several other students were either burned or nipped by it.

Severus noticed how (F/N) looked slightly guilty – she needn’t have felt that way if she did, because that was what the potion was there for. “I made some more, which I didn’t have time to do before,” she went on. “If you need extra, though, I made quite a few bottles so you can help yourself …”

“… Thank you,” he said, shifting the weight of the bottle to his other hand. It was quite heavy. “I didn’t come to hound you about that, though, so you don’t have to look so … caught-out,”

(F/N) flushed a little pink and went back to what she was doing. Severus noticed the quill she was using – the one he had given her for Christmas. He suppressed a smile, so that he smiled inwardly but it did not show on his face. (F/N) had thanked him for the gift, of course, and he had thanked her for what she had given him (he had no idea she could bake), but no more had been said on the subject. That suddenly changed as she asked the question she had previously forgotten.

“I meant to ask, Severus … Where did you get this feather?”

Poppy had just gone into the back room herself but Severus kept his voice low regardless. “I haven’t seen Aeolus, if that’s what you’re asking … I wish I had,” he said. (F/N) looked quite disappointed, but that only prompted him to explain how he came by the feather, no matter how heart-wrenching the truth. “It was sitting among some flowers on your … your grave. I found it when I … went to visit you …”

(F/N) had not been expecting this. Severus’ answer not only suggested that Aeolus – her beloved four-legged friend – had visited her at least once while she was still dead, but he had also admitted that he had been to ‘see’ her as well. She was so touched that she didn’t know what to say.

“I just thought you might like it,” said Severus, realising that (F/N) was struggling for words. “I’m pleased to see you’re getting some use out of it, at least,”

“Yes …” she said quietly. “Thank you again …”

Severus nodded. The atmosphere was beginning to feel awkward, as much as he wished that were impossible when it came to him and his old friend. “Anyway, as I said, this isn’t why I came,” he said. “I wanted to ask if you were all right,”

For all her doubts and insecurities where Severus was concerned, and in spite of their fairly recent argument about Harry, (F/N) could not help admiring how straightforward and unflinching he was. She nodded resignedly and gave a little sigh through her nose. “I’m fine, thanks,” she murmured, although Lockhart’s comment had wounded her deeply. “The little rat just doesn’t know when to shut his mouth,”

Severus barely managed to conceal his smirk. “Indeed,” he said smoothly. “None of us appreciated him speaking so disrespectfully to you. I simply wanted to make sure it hadn’t affected you too much …”

(F/N) shook her head. “I’ll get over it,” she said with more certainty, giving him the very smallest of brave smiles.

The Potions master bowed his head slightly to her in acknowledgement, just as Poppy came back to the ward. He felt an odd mixture of emotions to see her returning; irritation that he could no longer continue his conversation with (F/N) (without feeling as though someone was eavesdropping), and relief because he didn’t actually know what else he could possibly say, much to his frustration.

“Well …” he began, trying not to look too young and green, like a schoolboy asking a girl on a date for the first time (he’d been there and done that, and should be more experienced than that, he told himself). “… I should be going. Thank you again for the potion,”

(F/N) watched him go before returning to her labels. She could feel Poppy watching her from across the room, but once again found herself grateful for the fact that she never asked nosy questions. Besides, (F/N) was sure it wouldn’t take _anyone_ long to figure out the basic, underlying truths of what had just transpired between her and the brooding Potions master.

She took a deep breath and wrote ‘Draught of Peace’ on the label she had in front of her. _Back to work,_ she thought.


	10. Chapter 10

With Dumbledore gone, the atmosphere at Hogwarts turned to one of near-terror. They were no closer to catching the culprit behind the attacks (although Pomona later told the staff the Mandrakes were nearly fully grown, which Minerva had the delight of announcing to the rest of the school one morning). Still, Minerva insisted on teachers escorting students to and from lessons, and the six o’clock curfew was still in place despite certain people, in their infinite wisdom, thinking this completely unnecessary.

“Honestly, I don’t know _why_ anyone thinks the school is still in danger,” said Lockhart flippantly, that very same afternoon. He had originally come to the hospital wing to speak to Poppy about a Deflating Draught (goodness knew why he needed it), because he knew perfectly well that Severus would sneer at him for asking (the question of why Lockhart couldn’t brew it himself sprung to mind). Although he was speaking to Poppy, because the thought of approaching (F/N) obviously frightened him (if the looks they gave each other were anything to go by), he still seemed to think that he was perfectly welcome to hang around chatting about nonsense.

“Because the danger has not yet passed?” Poppy suggested.

“But it _has!”_ said Lockhart with a sickening smile, and an air of false knowing. He tapped his temple annoyingly, as if he had been saying this all along. “The person responsible has been taken away! As I said, if the Minister for Magic was not _certain_ of who it was then he wouldn’t have taken him away, would he now?”

“I think I should be getting on with my work …” said Poppy uncomfortably, remembering how rude he had been to (F/N) the last time this topic was raised.

“Ah, but of course!” said Lockhart merrily, giving his bottle of Deflating Draught a little shake. Its contents sloshed about in the bottle, and his shaking caused the liquid to froth. “I, too, must return to my duties. A sentinel never sleeps, after all!”

(F/N) bristled at the thought of Lockhart’s suggestion that he was any sort of protector of her beloved school. As soon as he was out of earshot, Poppy tutted briskly and made an irritated sort of noise. (F/N) couldn’t have agreed more.

With everything going on in the school, and all of the worries those dark times brought with them, (F/N) found herself growing increasingly tired with each passing day, because not only was she concerned for the welfare of everyone within the castle walls (and particularly Harry), but those fears had roused old worries that she had tried very hard to bury. Poppy had noticed how (F/N) had taken to brewing (and presumably taking) lots of Dreamless Sleep Potion, yet for all her concerns for the younger woman she simply could not bring herself to pry. (F/N), meanwhile, endeavoured to focus on her work rather than the nightmares she had been having before taking the potion, which invariably stemmed from a memory of some kind. Some nights she would dream of James and Lily, and how she was powerless to bring them back; others, she would dream of Voldemort and her battle with him, and his jeering reminder that no one loved her. This would inevitably lead to a dream or two about Severus, or Sirius, or _someone_ berating or abandoning her. On other nights still, these sorts of dreams would morph into something relating to the present day, making her feel as though something terrible would happen.

The one thing she could always expect, though, was that she would wake up with a start, tears streaming down her face.

A few hours later, (F/N) was in the throes of battle with memories of these nightmares when there suddenly came an announcement in Minerva’s voice, ringing out through the school. _“All students to return to their house dormitories at once. All teachers return to the staff room. Immediately, please,”_

Poppy and (F/N) looked at each other. Both of their faces were ashen and it felt as though their stomachs were suddenly made of lead. They did as they were told, locking the hospital wing so as to protect the Petrified, and hastened to the staff room where the other members of staff were gathering. They glanced nervously about, but nobody seemed to know why they were there.

“It has happened,” said Minerva, rushing into the room and closing the door behind her. “A student has been taken by the monster, right into the Chamber itself,”

She looked as pale and scared as the rest of them. Filius let out a horrified squeal and (F/N) and Poppy reached out and clutched each other’s arms for support. (F/N) noticed Severus was gripping the back of a chair extremely hard, and Madam Hooch had to sit down. Those among them who had entered the staff room looking frightened had just had their worst fears confirmed.

“How can you be sure?” asked Severus, looking whiter than usual, if that were possible.

Minerva looked as though she might be violently ill at any moment and her voice wavered as she replied, “The heir of Slytherin left another message, right underneath the first one. _‘Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever’ …”_

Filius burst into tears and (F/N) immediately went to comfort him, crouching down beside him and patting his back. She, too, felt like crying but how she felt then was as nothing compared to how she was about to …

“Which student?” Madam Hooch asked nervously.

Minerva looked distraught, but (F/N) suspected she would have looked that way regardless of who the student was. Tears pricked sharply in her eyes and she thought she would be sick as Minerva said, “Ginny Weasley,”

(F/N)’s breath caught in her throat as she struggled to breathe, thinking of the poor Weasleys and, indeed, little Ginny herself. She hadn’t seen much of the girl over the course of the year, apart from at her Sorting and when she’d come to the hospital wing for Pepperup Potion around October-time ...

“We shall have to send all the students home tomorrow,” said Minerva gravely, and with a very obvious tear in her eye. “I’m afraid this is the end of Hogwarts …”

Just then, the door banged open and who should walk in but everyone’s least-favourite colleague. Lockhart was beaming, which only inspired hatred and anger in his fellows. “So sorry,” he said, as though nothing in the world was the matter. “Dozed off. What have I missed?”

(F/N) wondered how on earth he knew to come to the staff room at all if he had dozed off. _Probably curling his hair instead,_ she thought cynically. Everyone was glaring at him, but the fool seemed completely unperturbed. That was until Severus addressed him.

“Just the man. The very man. A girl has been snatched by the monster, Lockhart. Taken into the Chamber of Secrets itself. Your moment has come at last,”

All colour drained from Lockhart’s face in a manner that was extremely satisfying for (F/N) to watch and, she suspected, everyone else besides.

“That’s right, Gilderoy,” Pomona piped up eagerly, although (F/N) could tell that the kindly Hufflepuff was taunting him. “Weren’t you saying just last night that you’ve known all along where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is?”

Lockhart began stuttering like the buffoon that he was.

“Yes, didn’t you tell me you were sure you knew what was inside it?” Filius chipped in, making the man stammer even more.

“I certainly recall you saying that you regretted not having the chance to tackle the beast before Hagrid was arrested,” said Severus, sneaking a very furtive glance at (F/N). She suddenly appreciated the hidden intent behind his comment, and that was not only to embarrass Lockhart further and put more pressure on him, but to acknowledge once again (F/N)’s defence of Hagrid and Lockhart’s grievous insults. “Didn’t you say that the whole affair had been botched, and that you should have been the one to deal with this from the outset?”

“I … I really never … You may have misheard me, or misunderstood …” Lockhart spluttered, looking around at everyone. (F/N) felt a tremendous amount of grim satisfaction to see him so flustered. He caught her eye and his pallor turned to grey. He stopped speaking altogether.

“That’s settled, then,” said Minerva with a slight smirk, which she tried to conceal but failed. “We’ll make sure everyone’s out of your way, and leave you to deal with the monster, Lockhart. Your skills, after all, are legend …”

(F/N) watched his Adam’s apple bob as he gulped. “V-very well,” he said, doing his best to look confident once more, although he couldn’t have sounded less so if he tried. “I’ll just be in my office, getting – getting ready …”

He left the room as quickly as he had arrived.

“Right, now that _he’s_ gone …” said Minerva, in the manner of someone dusting off their hands after tidying up – taking out the rubbish, perhaps. “Please could the Heads of Houses inform their students of what has happened, and that the Hogwarts Express will take them home first thing tomorrow morning. Will the rest of you please make sure no students have been left outside of their dormitories …”

“Minerva …” said (F/N), approaching the deputy headmistress as everyone prepared to leave. A few people stopped to listen to what she was going to say, curious of what the battle-hardened ex-Auror would suggest. “We all know Lockhart can’t handle this. Let me help …”

Minerva looked at her with sympathy and gratitude. “(F/N), it is very good of you to put yourself forward like this but we cannot afford to lose anyone else to the monster …”

(F/N) glanced around her and realised they were being watched, even now. She dropped her voice to a low murmur and said, “But if the worst comes to pass, I _may_ be able to help …”

Minerva couldn’t understand what she might mean by that, because as far as she and the other staff were aware, (F/N)’s resurrection was made possible by external powers. Dumbledore had told them all he knew of (F/N)’s ‘condition’, but notabout her heritage. The furthest he had gone in his explanation was that her father had had something to do with (F/N)’s return after searching for a ‘cure’ for many years. Minerva shook her head.

“I’m sorry, (F/N). I know this must be hard for you, as it is for all of us,” she said. “But I will not place anyone else in a position where they may be at risk,”

(F/N) felt crushed. She couldn’t imagine how the rest of the Weasleys would feel when they learned the fate of their youngest family member, and she simply didn’t know how she could return to the hospital wing with Poppy and … do nothing. She needed to be doing _something,_ but she didn’t know what that _was,_ exactly …

Meanwhile, unbeknown to her, Harry and Ron watched from the old wardrobe in the corner of the room. When everyone left, the boys emerged, looking every bit as horrified as the staff. Harry turned to Ron, who was considerably whiter than everyone else, being that it was his sister who had been taken into the depths of the Chamber of Secrets.

“I think we should go and see Lockhart,” Ron whispered, hardly able to raise his voice beyond that. “He’s going to try and get into the Chamber. We can tell him where we think it is, and what we think is inside …”

Harry nodded in agreement. “We’ll need to go when the teachers aren’t looking for students outside of the dormitories, though …” he said sensibly. “Did you see how Madam Castor reacted?” he then blurted. Ron gave him a quizzical look despite his heartache for his sister. “… She looked even more upset than the rest of them, and you must have heard what she said … She offered to help get Ginny back …”

“I’m sure any of them would try to get a student back …” said Ron quietly.

“Yes, but …” Harry stopped short and sighed as they left the staff room themselves, taking care not to be spotted by anyone. “I don’t know, it just felt _different_ when she stepped forward. I feel like …”

“What, Harry?” said Ron, who was beginning to feel less and less like talking by the second.

“… I don’t _know_ , that’s just the thing … It’ll probably sound stupid, but … She seems familiar, somehow. The way she talks … Don’t you think she seems more … _affectionate_ than Madam Pomfrey?”

“I reckon she just isn’t fed up with idiot children yet …” said Ron gloomily.

Harry wasn’t sure. There was definitely _something_ about Madam Castor that made people feel ‘at home’ around her. It wasn’t just Harry who felt that way, either. Neville had told him the same, and Hermione hadn’t stopped talking about the not-so-new nurse after she spent a few weeks in her care, when she half-transformed herself into a cat. Harry put the thought from his mind as a dreadfully heavy feeling overcame him. None of this changed the fact that Ginny had been taken by the monster, and he couldn’t ever remember feeling this bad about anything in his life.

***

(F/N) paced up and down the ward, trying not to think of the last time she felt this helpless. Nothing Poppy could think to say to her passed her lips, because she knew nothing would help. Ginny Weasley must have been in the Chamber for several hours already, and there were still six other victims of the monster who still needed to be cured of their Petrification. Now the school was faced with closure over the latest incident, and everybody was at a loss. It was terrible, feeling as out-of-control as they did, and the thing that made it infinitely worse was that it seemed likely that it really would be Lockhart to go into the Chamber and try to rescue the girl.

To top it all off, (F/N) had just realised that, with all of the students being sent home in the morning, that also meant that she could no longer look out for Harry – something she had not, up until this very evening, noticed that she had been doing both for her godson’s sake and for her own sanity. It felt as though a rug had been pulled from underneath her … again.

She was spiralling, and it was … sickening. She had thought, by throwing herself into her work, she could suppress her feelings and memories (for the most part) and not dwell on them, but now she acknowledged that they weren’t just going to go away … A flashback here, a memory there … Cruel taunts before death and desperation in her soul flooded back and began slowly drowning her mind. She could no longer think straight, feeling as though something was compressing her skull … and then, like a python coiling itself around her neck, a terrible choking sensation, strangling … squeezing … she couldn’t _breathe_ for the pressure on her throat. It started to sting, and her hand flew to her neck. She looked at it, expecting blood, but there was nothing. Her hand was dry and clean and she was unhurt, except for the long, horizontal, but reasonably faint scar that she knew marred the soft skin of her throat. She took a deep breath just as Poppy reached her side, peering worriedly into her face.

Memories were powerful things, indeed. She had not considered just how much they could affect a person …

Poppy had looked at (F/N) and saw a tormented soul. Thus, she administered the very best medicine she could think of under these circumstances: a hug, and assurances that everything would be all right. With conversation about anything and everything, Poppy successfully ‘distracted’ (F/N) for a couple of hours – or, at the very least, managed to stop her from hurtling off to find the Chamber of Secrets herself, and pluck Ginny Weasley from its depths.

At half past nine that evening, Pomona came hurrying into the hospital wing with a huge smile on her face. “The Mandrakes are with Professor Snape now, and he’s making the potion as we speak!” she said breathlessly. Poppy and (F/N) beamed at her, for this was the best news they’d had in what seemed a very long time. The stars in the sky beyond the hospital windows seemed to glow just a little brighter.

At around midnight, the doors opened again and in walked Severus, carrying a very large, square-shaped bottle of Mandrake Restorative Draught. He handed it to Poppy, who was standing closer-by, and she did a funny little skip as she thanked him before turning to fetch beakers for the patients. (F/N) had beaten her to it, however, and passed her one before she could even ask.

“I made extra, just in case …” said Severus softly, watching the two witches work at administering the medicine.

“You’ve done a stellar job, as always,” said Poppy, smiling at him before returning to Miss Clearwater, to whom she had just been about to give some more potion. Severus glanced at (F/N) and, although she wasn’t looking at him, he found himself taking a no small amount of pleasure in seeing the tiny smile on her face, as she watched the Petrified students beginning to stir.

“Professor Dumbledore has returned, too,” he said, suddenly remembering and thinking to himself that his colleagues ought to know. They both looked immensely relieved, and exclaimed, “Thank Merlin!” at the same time.

With nothing more to see while they revived everyone, Severus excused himself again. (F/N) and Poppy worked for around an hour, getting the paralysed victims to drink the potion first and then nursing them back to peak condition once they were awake. This development provided an incredible boost to (F/N)’s previously dire mood, but a nasty little voice at the back of her mind insisted on reminding her that Ginny Weasley may not have been as lucky as her schoolmates …

That terrible thought persisted until the girl herself walked through the doors to the hospital wing, waxy-faced and tearful, but in reasonably good health otherwise. Just like that. The nurses were overjoyed to see her, and while Ginny came forward to sit patiently on a bed (she obviously needed medical attention), her mother and father (who had been called to the school in light of what had happened to Ginny) stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed at (F/N).

“W-what is this …?” asked Molly nervously, unsure of which question to ask: whether (F/N) actually _was_ standing before her, or whether her eyes were playing tricks on her after the very emotional evening she had already had.

“(F/N) …?” said Arthur, scanning the young woman for signs that she was not, in fact, real. He pinched himself, quite obviously believing he was somehow asleep.

(F/N) looked anxiously between them, willing them not to say anything in front of their daughter, who (F/N) knew was very fond of Harry. Besides that, she knew that the Weasleys knew she was Harry’s godmother, and she didn’t want them to be the ones to break the news to him … or tell Ron, who may tell Harry … or Hermione, who may tell Harry … Her thoughts were truly swirling, like a powerful maelstrom.

“Hello, Arthur. Hello, Molly,” she said, forcing herself to be calm in the presence of more old friends. Poppy looked just as awkward, but continued to make Colin drink water.

Molly looked as though she might burst into tears again, and Arthur wore an expression that suggested he had never seen such spectacular magic in all his life as that which allowed (F/N) to be there, standing before them and talking to them as she used to. She flashed her eyes at them, realising the students were watching, and nodded to them in a way that said, _“I will explain later”._

She went to Ginny’s side and began checking her over for injuries before asking how she actually felt, all while expressing her extreme relief that she was alive and well. Ginny explained a little of what happened to her, and _had been_ happening to her over the course of the year, all of which was enough to tell (F/N) that the girl would benefit from a dose of Wiggenweld Potion. Meanwhile, Molly and Arthur stared at her as though she were a yeti dressed as a nurse, providing medical care to their daughter. They simply didn’t know what to say to her at all, let alone think of anything that wouldn't alarm the students …

There were more footsteps in the corridor, and as (F/N) and Poppy looked up from their work they saw Ron entering the hospital wing with Lockhart in tow, of all people. Ron looked slightly put-out but, like Ginny, he was a little on the grubby side and looked as though he had been on a real adventure. Lockhart was also considerably more dishevelled than usual, but he wore a good-natured smile and kept looking around at everyone as though they were the most interesting things he had ever laid eyes on.

“Hello,” he said cheerfully, looking at each of them in turn.

(F/N) turned to Ron and, with a very confused expression, asked, “Are you all right, Ron? Why are you all dirty? And why is Professor Lockhart … well …”

Ron lapsed into an explanation of all that had occurred that evening, which (F/N) hadn’t realised Molly and Arthur had already heard from Harry. (F/N)’s heart leapt into her throat as Ron mentioned how they’d found out about the Chamber of Secrets’ whereabouts and its inhabitant, and how they had discovered Lockhart trying to leave before he could be made to go and look into the matter himself. Lockhart didn’t seem to realise that Ron was talking about him, but that made all the sense in the world when he explained how the DADA professor had snatched his broken wand and tried to Obliviate both him and Harry, backfiring spectacularly in the process …

“I say …” said Lockhart, blinking as though he had just woken from a very deep sleep and was seeing everyone again for the first time. He was looking straight at (F/N), however, and she suddenly felt quite uncomfortable. “You’re really quite lovely, aren’t you? What does a pretty thing like you do for fun?”

(F/N) couldn’t believe it. Even with total amnesia, Lockhart was still trying to chat her up. She looked at all four Weasleys and gave them a withering roll of her eyes. “I’m a nurse, Gilderoy …” she said, as nicely as she could. “I make people better …”

“Gilderoy? Is that my name? And a _nurse_ , are you? Think you could have a little look at my head for me? I think I might have bumped it earlier … No rush, though!”

(F/N) couldn’t have been more surprised by his turnaround and it must have shown, because Ginny and Ron both started laughing quietly. Molly flapped at them to make them stop in case they somehow offended the oblivious Lockhart. (F/N) ushered him away and sat him down on a bed of his own, where he very patiently remained until she came back to him after making sure Ginny was completely back to normal.

“Are you sure you’re feeling better now?” (F/N) asked her, crouching down at her bedside. “You can stay a bit longer if you need to …”

Ginny shook her head and smiled. “Much better, thanks,” she said, swinging her legs slightly.

(F/N) grinned. “And what about you, Ron? Feeling okay after this evening’s excitement?”

Ron nodded eagerly. “Yes, thanks,” he said. “Professor McGonagall’s organising a feast, too, so that’ll be good!”

“Ooh, well you lot had better be making tracks then, hadn’t you?” said (F/N), pretending to shoo them away. “You don’t want to miss that, I’m sure!”

The Weasleys said goodbye to their parents (Ginny had a lot more difficulty with this on account of her mother and father not wanting to let her out of their sight again) and hurried off in the direction of the Great Hall. The Petrified people (and cat) were all back to normal as well, and the remaining students also hurried off to join the feast with a quick wave and thank-you to the nurses. (F/N) was just beginning to see to Lockhart’s head when there was suddenly a lot of commotion coming from one of the other staircases – and it wasn’t the students heading for the Great Hall, either. There was a man’s voice, angry and shouting at someone … probably at Filch, or a ghost … or Peeves …

(F/N) soon learned who it was. She marched to the hospital wing doors, put her head outside to look around and saw, stalking down the corridor towards her, Lucius Malfoy, who was in a temper unlike anything she had seen before. She wished she hadn’t been the one to look, however, because it took him barely any time at all to spot – and recognise – her. That was _after_ he skidded to a halt, shouted out in surprise (and, she was pleased to note, a little bit of fear), then recovered sufficiently to stand there glaring at her.

His cold, grey eyes glittered maliciously as students finally began filtering towards the Hall in large groups, forcing him to move along, but (F/N) felt the dread building in her core. _Lucius Malfoy had seen her._ She knew that would mean trouble. _Big_ trouble. Nothing was said in that moment, but as he left the school (clearly still in a rage), (F/N) felt sure that she was in for a world of grief and quite soon, at that.

Molly and Arthur were just preparing to take their leave as well, but as (F/N) swept back into the room they stopped and gazed at her in wonder once more.

 _“How_ is this possible?” said Molly, rephrasing her earlier question. “(F/N), you’re supposed to be …”

“Dead?” (F/N) filled in for her, pushing Lockhart’s now-messy blond curls back to check for cuts and scrapes. “I was. It’s … well, complicated would be putting it lightly,”

When she had ascertained that the damage to Lockhart’s person went no further than his addled memory, she told him as much but instructed him to make himself comfortable until they could send for someone to transfer him to St. Mungo’s. He made another (this time rather endearing) comment on “how pretty” (F/N)’s eyes were, but (F/N) gave him a genial pat on the arm to satisfy his need for a response and turned back to Arthur and Molly. Now, her expression betrayed her pain and how much she had missed her friends. The Weasleys saw this in an instant, and the way in which (F/N) desperately tried not to break, and swarmed her for a hug.

“Oh, sweetheart ...” said Molly kindly, enveloping her in a soft, motherly cuddle. “You poor darling … I can’t imagine what you must have been through … That night was all the Ministry could talk about for a long time … Arthur said the Auror Office was all out-of-sorts for _ages …”_

“Old Moody wasn’t quite himself, either …” Arthur chipped in, patting (F/N) gently on the shoulder. “They all said he became more paranoid than ever after You-Know-Who murdered his young protégée,”

Molly gave him a very sharp look of warning as he mentioned the ‘M’ word, but it seemed to glance off (F/N) like water off a duck’s back. She pulled back from Molly’s embrace and smiled bravely. She hoped that not every reunion would go like this, where she was almost reduced to tears at the mere thought of the 'events that came before’.

“It would have been good if Professor Dumbledore had told us who we should expect to see when we brought Ginny along, but no harm done,” said Molly in her usual, cheerful way. “If you’ve managed to stay hidden at Hogwarts for a year already, I’m sure it’s because you don’t want all the attention anyway, hm?”

(F/N) nodded, but then she remembered Malfoy. “Lucius Malfoy was here just a minute ago, and he saw me when I went to the door,” she said. “I doubt I’ll remain a secret for very much longer …”

Arthur and Molly looked at each other briefly before turning back to (F/N). “Well, the Ministry won’t be hearing about you from us, that’s for sure,” said Arthur resolutely. “If Dumbledore wanted you kept secret, it’s not for anyone else to go around blabbing,”

(F/N) smiled at them both. “Thank you. I really appreciate it …” she said. “I’m sorry this came as such a shock to you … I’ve been wanting to write to every single one of my friends since I came back but I couldn’t, for lots of reasons …”

“We understand,” said Molly, rubbing (F/N)’s arm affectionately. “I don't suppose Harry would know anything about you, either …?”

(F/N) shook her head. “It’s too much to spring on him at this stage …” she said sadly. “I’ll tell him one day though, of course …”

Arthur and Molly understood this, too. They couldn’t begin to imagine the complexities of (F/N)’s renewed existence but, in an attempt to make her feel at least a _little_ bit better, they told her all they knew of Harry so far, things she could not have found out from his friends and teachers, or from rumours alone. A couple of minutes later, however, they were interrupted as Dumbledore himself entered the room.

“Ah!” he said, observing the scene before him, blue eyes twinkling brightly. “I see you have already met – again. My apologies for not mentioning this earlier …”

Arthur and Molly smiled at Dumbledore as though this was no big deal. Dumbledore wore a slightly amused expression, however.

“I’m afraid it quite slipped my mind that you would encounter an old friend here,” he said. “I am not doing too badly for my age, but sometimes things do get away from me. On top of that, Miss Castor has become like part of the furniture – we have all grown accustomed to seeing her around the castle, now,”

(F/N) also smiled. That was actually quite pleasing for her to hear.

“Now that the students have all been seen to, I was wondering if I might be able to have a private word with you, (F/N)? I will not take much of your time, and then we can make our way to the feast …”

“Of course, Professor …” said (F/N), nodding to him. “Write to me in Spindlewood, won’t you?” she added, turning back to the Weasleys. “Your owl will know how to reach me, and it's not that far for him to go. I’d write myself, but I’m relying on my father’s owl, these days …”

They were eager to agree, and said their thank-yous and goodbyes before Dumbledore walked to the back room with (F/N) to talk. She leaned against a table, and Dumbledore fixed her with a gaze that was both firm and gentle. “That must have been a bit of a surprise for you all …” he said softly. “I am sorry I did not warn any of you …”

“You don’t need to apologise, sir,” said (F/N). “I’m not supposed to be on-shift tonight, but I wanted to help Poppy with the Mandrake potion,”

Dumbledore smiled, although it was one of those that seemed to be directed inward rather than at the person he was speaking to. “You are most gracious,” he said. “I daresay it is thanks to how well you have adapted to life again that others are able to overcome the shock of seeing you alive and well. I think there will be others who will struggle to accept what their eyes are telling them, but the more familiar the world feels to you, the more familiar you will seem to other people …”

(F/N) wondered if this was some sort of magic that Dumbledore knew about but she did not (which seemed very likely), but put the thought from her mind as soon as it came to her. There was no point in dwelling on it. “What did you need to talk to me about, sir?” she asked, sensing that this was not why he came.

“Ah, forgive me. It has been a long day,” said the old headmaster. “I wish to speak with you about Harry, and something he told me when he returned from the Chamber …”

(F/N) felt her stomach turn to stone and her blood to ice. What was he going to tell her …?

“The Chamber was opened by Ginny Weasley, as you may already know, but she had been possessed by an old diary which she had been writing in all year …”

(F/N) nodded to tell him that she knew this.

“… That diary once belonged to Tom Riddle, a student at Hogwarts fifty years ago …” said Dumbledore quietly. “Not many people know this, but Tom Riddle came to be known by a different name –,”

“Voldemort,” said (F/N), quickly and bitterly.

“… How did you know?”

“I didn’t know that was his name _before_ the alias,” said (F/N), feeling her blood quickly thawing and beginning to bubble in anger. “I could just sense where the conversation was going … Why else would we be talking about a student from so long ago, who was intelligent enough to enchant a diary so that it could possess people? And one that Harry Potter came into contact with, no less?”

Dumbledore wore a funny little smile that (F/N) could not help noticing, nor could she help feeling slightly self-conscious because of it. The headmaster nodded, however. “You know, (F/N), I think you are rather too clever for your own good as well, sometimes. After I saw your final memory, I could not help but notice how Voldemort’s eyes betrayed a little fear as you fought him. Your power once made you very desirable to him if he could recruit you, but a terrible adversary if he could not, and I believe this to be the reason why his sixteen-year-old shade mentioned to Harry that he knew you were somewhere in the castle …”

(F/N)’s eyes widened in horror but Dumbledore raised a soothing hand to quiet her before she could even speak.

“Do not worry, my dear. Harry does not know the nature of your relationship to him. Voldemort is extremely vain, and would not speak of something unless it benefitted him in some way. To tell Harry that you are his godmother would serve no purpose at all, if Voldemort even knew about it,”

(F/N) couldn’t see how that piece of information could have eluded Voldemort’s knowledge but she simply chose to accept Dumbledore’s words for now. To do anything else would have tortured her, and she would never sleep again if she allowed her brain to think of all the different things Voldemort could do if he _did_ know who she and Harry were to each other.

“As it stands, I simply wanted you to be aware that, although the diary has been destroyed and Tom Riddle’s shade with it, he is aware that you are somewhere close at hand and Harry is also now aware that you ... how shall I put it? That you mean more to this great puzzle than meets the eye,”

(F/N) tried not to smile at his choice of words. She suspected that Harry thought little more of her than that she was ‘the nice witch who worked with Madam Pomfrey’. She was, however, made to eat those unspoken words a moment later.

“I might add that Harry told me that you seem somehow familiar to him, and that he became quite angry with Voldemort when he mentioned you. He said that he felt “a strange sense of loyalty” to you. I could see Harry mulling it over in his head as he told me about it, and he supposed it was because he showed me great loyalty down there also. Of course, you and I know better, don’t we?”

Dumbledore’s blue eyes positively shone in the candlelight as he watched tears of joy swimming in (F/N)’s. “He knows me, then …” she whispered happily. “Somewhere, in the back of his mind, maybe … but he _remembers …”_

Dumbledore approached her and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, smiling all the while. “Everything happens for a reason, my dear,” he said kindly. “Soon enough, things will be as they should have been all along …”

That reminded (F/N) of what had happened shortly before the headmaster’s arrival. Her sunny mood faded and her smile creased itself into a frown. Dumbledore looked at her in concern, which seemed to be all the encouragement she needed to speak. “Lucius Malfoy saw me,” she whispered, as though the man himself could have been listening at the door.

If Dumbledore was troubled by this news, his face showed no more worry than it already did. “I see,” he said simply, nodding thoughtfully. “I expect he will have some sort of opinion on your return, which he will inevitably pass on to the Ministry …”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” said (F/N) mournfully. “He tells the Ministry, then they come knocking on my door wanting to interrogate me about all of this … They’ll come asking you about why you didn’t disclose my existence in the first place, then harboured me in secret for a year, and ask why none of the other staff told them, either … Oh Merlin, and they’ll want to know who brought me back and how, and that could put my father in danger …!”

“(F/N), calm down …” said Dumbledore, who had noticed that (F/N) was beginning to hyperventilate. “It is you who everyone is most concerned about. I can assure you, though, that you will be perfectly safe and no harm will befall you or your family. Everyone else will be fine. When the Ministry comes looking for you, your father will send for me and I will join you there so that you do not have to face them alone …”

(F/N) nodded and tried to slow her breathing. Dumbledore’s words were soothing, to be certain, but she still could not help worrying about what was surely to come. Would they lock her up? Experiment on her? What if they didn’t, but grilled her about the night the Potters died? She knew that the world was aware of her part in that awful event, and that no one thought she had been aiding Voldemort, but what if they asked her about Sirius? They were _sure_ to, weren’t they …?

“We should join the feast, (F/N), while we still have the chance,” said Dumbledore gently, giving her another kindly smile. “I have sent a letter to Azkaban, asking for our gamekeeper back, so dear Hagrid should be with us any time, now …”

(F/N) took a deep breath and smiled back. Hagrid was coming back – something to look forward to! She had only been alive again for a year and a half, and she had already had enough of worrying to last a lifetime. Now would be a prime opportunity to let her hair down, relax and celebrate with the rest of the school. She followed the headmaster back onto the ward, and walked with him towards the Great Hall.


	11. Chapter 11

Seeing the students leaving school for the summer was extremely hard for (F/N). Not only did it mean she wouldn’t stand any sort of chance of seeing Harry for the next six or seven weeks, but it also served as a painful reminder of her own schooldays. She couldn’t help remembering how she and Lily would hug at King’s Cross, promising to write every week, and how she would then look forward to every single letter that followed. She even allowed herself to reminisce about Severus’ letters, and how much she looked forward to those, too.

Those memories were almost immediately hounded by thoughts of when he had asked her to be his girlfriend, just before they went into their sixth year. She scrubbed that roughly from her mind, only for it to settle on her beloved owl, Cicero. Poor old Cicero …

(F/N) busied herself with packing her belongings so that she, too, could return home for the summer. She thought it strange that she, a woman in her ‘early thirties’, would be returning home to her parents while school was out. She was looking forward to seeing them again, and perhaps Haydn and Edith if they chose to visit, but she did not relish the thought of being cooped up for the entire holiday. That was, of course, unless the Ministry decided to come calling …

She spent the last couple of hours at Hogwarts sitting in the courtyard with Hagrid, watching some starlings who had landed in the fountain and were quite merrily washing themselves, singing as they went. Hagrid had not wanted to speak about his ordeal in Azkaban at first, but soon enough he spilled everything to her, telling her about how horrible it was and how the guards there – the Dementors – sucked all the life and happiness out of you with each passing minute. (F/N) quickly distracted herself from some terribly pervasive thoughts about how Sirius would have suffered the very same thing for _twelve years,_ and instead refocused her energies on helping Hagrid through his struggles instead.

Meanwhile, unbeknown to them, a pair of dark eyes watched them from the safety of a deserted, dimly lit corridor on the second floor. The window was open, and Severus could hear everything they were saying.

“Yer good to me, (F/N) …” said Hagrid, patting his friend genially on the shoulder. “Everythin’ yer goin’ through yerself, and yeh still make the time to talk to me about my troubles …”

(F/N) smiled at the gigantic gamekeeper. “Think nothing of it, Hagrid,” she said sweetly. “Everyone’s got problems, and none are bigger or scarier than anyone else’s. I’ve always got time to listen, and help if I can …”

Hagrid pulled her into an awkward hug at his side, just as the starlings flew off. “Things are gonna be much better from now on,” said Hagrid happily. “Havin’ you back has prob’ly bin the best thing abou’ this year,”

(F/N) laughed and, while he was sure she was no less happy to hear Hagrid say that, Severus could tell that it was the sort of laugh that also suggested she didn’t believe him. How she _couldn’t_ believe that was beyond him, because although the year had been truly dismal with all of the attacks on students – among other things – the best thing about it would still have been (F/N)’s return. He moved away from the window, suddenly regretful that he had not been able to repair his relationship with her in the year she’d been back. He had known it wasn’t going to be easy, but he hadn’t expected it to be this difficult, either …

(F/N) was a kind, forgiving and understanding woman, but she was also terribly emotionally wounded. She suffered, but she still gave her time and attention to other people’s problems before her own. Severus did not want to think of all the things that must go through her head as she went to sleep at night … He imagined that they would not be unlike the things he thought of as well … only worse.

He forced himself to walk away. The melody of her voice, tinkling like a wind chime on the summer breeze, was almost too much for him to listen to when he knew the happiness on the surface obscured an agony that nobody could touch. As he made his way back to his chambers, he wondered how much of what he attributed to (F/N)’s obvious inner torment was actually also his own.

Back in the courtyard, Kettleburn had just come up to Hagrid and (F/N) from the edge of the Forest where he normally held his lessons. It was his last day, and he looked and sounded quite emotional when he told them that he had been doing the rounds one last time before he went home 'once and for all'. (F/N) gave him an affectionate hug.

“We all know perfectly well that there is no force, in heaven or on earth, that could possibly keep you indoors, Professor,” she chuckled.

Kettleburn smiled down at her as she moved away. “Just as there is no force, in heaven or on earth, that could break that indomitable spirit of yours, Miss Castor,” he said fondly.

(F/N) blushed and simply didn’t know what to say. Kettleburn laughed and patted her on the shoulder as Hagrid frequently did, although he was not as strong as the gamekeeper and also made a conscious effort not to use his metal hand. The gesture was meant to excuse her from answering, which (F/N) accepted graciously. Instead of giving in to her bashfulness, however, she concentrated on old Professor Kettleburn, and made sure she and Hagrid gave the old CoMC teacher a merry farewell before he retired.

Magnus came to collect her straight from the castle a few hours later, ready to return to Spindlewood Common. (F/N) felt like a small child, being collected by a parent like this. It was a strange feeling, but it was not unpleasant as she had never experienced anything like it before. Whenever she was picked up from school, it was either when she was very young or when ‘Auntie Beth’ came to get her from the train station … When she arrived home and hugged her mother, she couldn’t help wishing that she knew then what she did now …

It was the kind of summer that brought back memories of roaming the countryside with Eddie, and while this nostalgia also brought with it feelings of sadness, (F/N) tried to enjoy the glorious sunshine and all the sights, sounds and smells that reminded her of home and her childhood. She would sit in the garden every day, basking in the sun beating down on the earth and breathing deeply the warm, heady scent of the colourful, voluminous flower garden that her mother had tended for years. When she closed her eyes, she could hear the breeze rustling the leaves in the trees at the end of the garden, on the other side of the path that ran along the backs of everyone’s houses on Oxlip Lane, and birds singing in the bushes. If she listened long enough, she could almost imagine the sound of water – a lake – lapping gently nearby.

She would always open her eyes at the last minute before daring to believe she was back at Hogwarts, sitting under the tree by the lake. To her, there was only one tree that could possibly be. She did not want to fool herself into thinking she was there again, because she would have turned around to check if Severus was sitting in the shade, reading a book, and Lily lying next to her, carefully sunning herself … 

Lily. (F/N) missed her so much it felt like claws tearing at her chest. She didn’t deserve what happened to her. She deserved to be with her son, and her husband, enjoying every day as though each one could be more magical than the last. Lily and James had so much to give to Harry, and to the world, and it had all been snatched away in the merest blink of an eye …

To say that (F/N) blamed herself was an understatement. She had gone to Godric’s Hollow that day – the same day Remus had begged her not to go and Sirius had got angry and walked out on her – with a view to protecting the Potters from what she _knew_ was going to happen. Her vision – _the_ vision, from her Divination N.E.W.T – had warned her of her own impending doom. It had also warned her of the death of a friend, who she now knew to have been James, but she had gone to the Potters' in the hope of changing the course of the future, just as Moran had suggested might be possible …

She had failed them. She had gone to their house to protect them, because she _knew_ Pettigrew was the traitor, and they all died anyway. Her emotions had got the better of her – which they wouldn’t have if she had been there to defend James from the first – and they made her erratic. Erratic and sloppy. Weak. Penetrable. Unfit to protect her best friend – her _sister_ – and Harry. The boy to whom she had been named ‘Godmother’. The boy she doted on as a _second_ mother. The boy she helped bring into the world ... She had been the first to welcome him …

(F/N) felt unworthy to distract herself from these consuming thoughts, but distract herself she did. Unfortunately, Haydn and Edith were inundated with work and were thus unable to visit her, but they wrote to her regularly. Vulcan paid a few visits of his own, and in addition to Haydn and Edith’s letters, (F/N) also received letters from Hagrid, Minerva and Poppy – all of which made her very happy. She found herself indulging in music, too, listening to the radio every day and marvelling at the last decade of Muggle music, in particular.

She had missed a great decade by being dead in the eighties, she thought.

The summer wore on, and her mind turned to thoughts of Harry’s birthday. What could she give him? She felt bad enough about being unable to do anything for his twelfth, but she would be damned if she was going to ‘miss’ his thirteenth. Although her parents were _very_ cautious about her going outside – even into the garden, which was sweet but slightly ridiculous at the same time – she was 'allowed' to nip down the road to the village Post Office to collect the present she’d bought for Harry by owl-order. As it turned out, not only did her father still have the _Daily Prophet_ delivered (very discreetly), but her mother was also subscribed to a wizarding mail-order catalogue (F/N) had somehow never heard of. After she had safely made it home, Adhara had lowered the protective enchantments around the house, after Magnus ‘made the rounds’ and concluded that (F/N)’s safe return meant the Hounds had long left Spindlewood Common.

(F/N) was aware of how this would look to people who had known James, but she had bought for her godson a Golden Snitch to practise with when he wasn’t flying about on his broomstick. She thought he hardly needed the extra help though because, biased though she was, (F/N) could not deny that Harry was an excellent Seeker and very good at his sport. Although James had been known to carry a Snitch around with him, catching it to show off to the girls (more specifically, Lily), (F/N)’s gift to Harry would actually have a very unique difference …

As soon as she took the tiny golden ball out of the box it came in, she got to work enchanting it. Adhara put her head around (F/N)’s bedroom door more than once to see her tinkering away at her desk, trying to make the Snitch do goodness-knew-what. But, as soon as (F/N) achieved the effect she was after, she couldn’t have been more delighted with the result: Harry’s birthday present was not just a Golden Snitch; it was a _sentient_ Golden Snitch. If he wanted, he could take it with him wherever he went and it would fly around, testing his reflexes and skills as a Seeker, but it would also ‘think’ about what it was doing and challenge him in different ways. Above all, though, the little, silver-winged ball would behave almost like a living creature, which (F/N) tested by seeing what it would do when she let it go. It flew around the room a few times before coming back to her and hovering just out of arm’s reach, like it was looking at her. She smiled at it, pleased with her handiwork, and it did a little somersault in midair as though happy for having her attention.

(F/N) transcribed a small message on the Snitch when it returned to her outstretched hand: _Happy Birthday, Harry._ That was all it needed to say, and the message would become visible when Harry touched it. No need for a card, because she didn’t want to give too much away, and there was also no need for anything more fancy than the Snitch itself because she already knew that Harry wasn’t the ‘flashy’ sort. Still, she returned the golden ball to its box and wrapped it up ready to go with Teak in a few day’s time, to where Harry lived with Lily’s sister, Petunia.

She sat back, feeling more satisfied than she had in weeks.

***

It was Saturday, 31st July. Magnus had just sat down at the kitchen table, his morning newspaper rolled up in his hand, and Adhara was magically sprucing some tulips sitting on the kitchen windowsill. They were all sorts of beautiful shades of red, yellow and purple and (F/N) couldn’t help smiling; if her mother wasn’t decorating the house with candles and trinkets in lots of lively colours, she was decorating it with brightly-hued flowers instead. (F/N) herself was sitting opposite her father, absentmindedly listening to the little portable television he had brought in from the garden shed – the shed in which he hadn’t been able to do any 'faffing' (as he called it) for very many years.

She had just taken a sip of coffee when something the Muggle newsreader said nearly made her spit it out, where it would have gone all over Magnus. She stopped herself just in time, and her parents, having heard the very same thing that she had, stopped what they were doing and leaned in towards the television.

“… the public is warned that Black is armed and extremely dangerous. A special hotline has been set up, and any sighting of Black should be reported immediately,”

Magnus reached for his paper and hurriedly smoothed it out. Sure enough, the picture of the escaped convict on the Muggle news was the same one on the front page of the _Daily Prophet._ He shakily showed Adhara the headline, and her expression became very grave. Meanwhile, (F/N) sat staring at the screen, utterly horror-stricken and frantic-looking at the same time.

“That’s …” she whispered, hardly daring to believe her eyes. “… That’s _Sirius._ He’s escaped …?”

Magnus nodded at her words, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. He knew what (F/N) had said before, about Sirius Black being innocent of betraying the Potters and killing those Muggles _and_ Peter Pettigrew, but he couldn’t simply uproot all of his previous beliefs in what the wizarding community had said to be true all those years ago … Could he?

“Mum, Dad … If Sirius _has_ escaped …” said (F/N), unable to take her eyes off the two mugshots of her old boyfriend. One was of him twelve years ago, effortlessly handsome but obviously ragingly angry about what had happened (he was screaming in the picture); the other was of him now, with long, matted hair, gaunt, pale skin and dark circles under his eyes. If she hadn’t known his eyes so well, (F/N) might have said she was looking at a different man. “… they’ll be out for blood. They still think he did it …”

“And you still think he’s innocent …” said Adhara gently, and not as accusingly as (F/N) had expected. “Are you sure that’s _right,_ love?”

“Positive,” said (F/N) firmly. “Apart from the fact that I _know_ Lily and James switched their Secret Keeper from Sirius to Peter, I also know Sirius would never have done anything like that to them, and I know he wouldn’t have killed any Muggles. I can imagine him wanting to hunt Peter down, but I don’t think he would have actually killed him …”

Magnus and Adhara glanced at each other nervously. It was that _"_ _I don’t think ..."_ that worried them.

There was suddenly a loud knocking on the front door. Everyone looked around at each other in panic. “Who could that be …?” Adhara whispered anxiously. “I know we took the charms off the house, but …”

“It’s probably a neighbour …” said Magnus nervously, but he stood up to go and answer the door all the same. There was another loud knock.

“No, you will _not_ answer that door, Magnus!” hissed Adhara crossly. “ _I’ll_ go,”

“I won’t put you in danger if it’s someone we don’t want to come across …”

Adhara pushed past her husband and closed the kitchen door to the hallway behind her. Magnus and (F/N) looked at each other in fear. They could hear talking at the front of the house, muffled by the door between them. Moments later, they distinctly heard Adhara say _“Please wait here a moment …”_ before hurrying back to the kitchen. She closed the door behind her again, and when she looked at them they saw that her eyes were full of worry.

“Wizards from the Ministry …” she murmured. “How did they know where to find us?”

(F/N) had known this was coming. She reminded them of what she had told them at the beginning of the summer, when she arrived back in Spindlewood Common with her father. “Lucius Malfoy saw me at Hogwarts …”

“We know, love, but _how_ did they find us?” said Adhara in terror. She had no idea what to expect of these people who had come looking for her daughter.

“Well … I suppose the only reason they would know to check here is because this is the address I lived at when I went to school …” said (F/N) sensibly. “And now that the enchantments have been taken down, they can see the house again,”

Adhara looked at Magnus as if to say to him that this was all her fault, but (F/N) shook her head adamantly when she noticed.

“They would have checked my old home in Cornwall, too,” she said. “… The one I shared with Sirius, that is. The only other places I’ve ever lived are Hogwarts – which they would have been to first – and Lily’s parents’ house, but of _course_ I wouldn't be there …”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. We understand,” said Magnus gently, before (F/N) could get herself worked up over Lily. “Right … I’m going to Dumbledore. Addie, darling, are you happy to go with (F/N) –?”

“No!” (F/N) protested abruptly. “I’ll not have either of you put at risk because of me. I’ll be fine. I know the Ministry well enough, and I can handle myself. Dad, if you go to Dumbledore, just tell him that what I said was going to happen _has_ happened, and he’ll come and smooth things over. Just don’t let _them_ see you, okay?”

“Darling, people saw me at your funeral. It’s no secret that I’m alive …” said Magnus.

“Be that as it may, we don’t know where the Hounds are or where they have eyes. They only know you by sight, correct?”

“Yes …” he said slowly.

“Then even if the Ministry knows you’re alive -,"

"Which they don't, because we would have had trouble sooner if anyone who came to the funeral had said anything ..." Adhara cut in briefly, looking squarely at her husband.

"- the Hounds won’t necessarily make the connection that you’re the same person as the one they’ve been looking for,” (F/N) finished.

Magnus couldn’t help but admire (F/N)’s courage. He remembered that Moran had told him that, when the Hounds followed his trail to Hogwarts, they had noticed how (F/N) resembled him a little but couldn’t prove she was his daughter. Moran’s tone had certainly suggested that those Hounds thought it a peculiar coincidence. Now, Magnus reasoned with himself, they were seventeen years on and there was a very good chance _those_ Hounds would have retired by now. The current Hounds wouldn’t know (F/N) if she walked up and spat in their faces.

(F/N) was about to walk out to the front door when Adhara stopped her. “Before you open that door …” she said carefully. “… I want you to know that I _am_ going with you,”

The look in her mother’s eyes told (F/N) that she wasn’t going to be argued with. Magnus nodded to his wife and Apparated instantly, going for Dumbledore as he said, and quickly enough that (F/N) couldn’t ask him to make her mother stay behind. Adhara then walked with (F/N) into the hallway to face the two Ministry wizards. (F/N) didn’t know either of them, and in spite of her reassurance to her parents that it would all work out fine, she was actually quite scared. They were not wearing blue coats, fortunately, but they did look quite sombre.

“(F/N) Castor?” one of them asked.

“As requested,”

“We have instructions to bring you back to the Ministry with us for questioning,” said the other. “Your … reappearance ... in these times has not gone unnoticed, and as we’re sure you can understand, this requires a degree of investigation. Having thought about it in greater detail while we waited, we also think it would be a good idea if _you_ came, too,” He looked at Adhara as he said this, as if he had been privy to the conversation the family had just had behind closed doors.

(F/N) glanced at her mother and sighed. Adhara now had no choice but to come along. “Very well,” said (F/N), stepping out onto the front path. “We’re ready when you are,”

“Just like that?” said the first wizard, wearing an extremely confused expression.

“Of course,” said (F/N), a little incredulously. “I came back to life, not commit treason. This isn’t an arrest, is it?”

“No, no, of course not …” he said, looking quite uncomfortable. (F/N) knew that it _was,_ in fact, an arrest, but this wizard didn't have it in him to tell her outright. He was too young to have been working at the Ministry when (F/N) was, but even he had heard how fierce she used to be and he certainly didn’t want to annoy her, if the stories about her were true ... “Um, if you could both please stand beside us …” he added hesitantly.

(F/N) and Adhara did as they were told and the Ministry wizards took one witch each. (F/N) mouthed to her mother _“Don’t worry”_ , just before they Apparated straight into the Ministry of Magic itself. As soon as her eyes adjusted, (F/N) began looking all around her at the Atrium she had once been so familiar with. Everything - from the gilded fireplaces along both walls, to the peacock blue ceiling with its moving, golden symbols, to the dark wood floor polished to such a high shine that she could see her reflection in it - made (F/N)’s heart leap in her chest as she thought back to her days as an Auror. She gazed up at the Fountain of Magical Brethren halfway down the Atrium, as she and her mother were frogmarched towards the golden gates at the end. The security guard and several other witches and wizards stopped to stare, utterly bemused, as they passed.

“Trying to work out where they’ve seen you before …” Adhara whispered to her daughter as best she could.

(F/N) didn’t like the idea that she could be exposed at any moment as being the one who was with the Potters when they died. She felt extremely vulnerable and she wasn’t looking forward to any of the questions she would soon, undoubtedly, be faced with. The two wizards walked the Castors to one of the lifts after the gates and ushered them inside, and the one with a hand wrapped around Adhara’s arm pushed the button to take them to Level Nine. (F/N) froze.

The Department of Mysteries. No wonder nobody had tried to get into the lift with them, and the wizards who had apprehended them hadn't gone into too much detail about their objective. They were Unspeakables.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-canon plot development.

The lift stopped moving and the doors slid open, revealing a long, black-tiled corridor with a plain black door right at the very end. There were no windows at all, and the place was lit with torches burning an eerie bluish-white. The two Unspeakables walked (F/N) and Adhara to the black door and sent them inside, one at a time. In the next room, (F/N) could see why the Unspeakables had felt confident that they wouldn’t try to run away; the Entrance Chamber was a circular room with a dark marble floor which made it look like standing water, and candles around the room emitted a cool blue light, giving the chamber a very disorienting feel. More than that, though, the twelve identical, handleless doors made it clear that only authorised personnel would know how to navigate these rooms.

(F/N) had never seen any of this before. Her department had always been Magical Law Enforcement on Level Two, many floors above them now. She was worried about what would happen when they walked through the door she was now being herded towards …

They walked into a very strange, cavernous chamber. It was large and echoing, rectangular and dimly lit, and all the way around it were benches descending in steep steps, much like the layout of an amphitheatre. The air was cold and utterly still, and right in the centre of the room was a raised stone dais in a sunken stone pit. On the dais was something (F/N) felt a very strange compulsion to walk towards.

It seemed to be a veil, covering a doorway (of sorts). It rippled as though it had just been touched but there was nothing, and nobody, there. The Unspeakables walked the Castors further into the chamber and told them to take seats on the very first bench, just before the stone pit. Adhara felt extremely uncomfortable, being placed before that strange barrier, and even more so to see her daughter gazing at it as though it were something she knew very well.

“Wait here,” said one of the Unspeakables, and they both whisked out of the room.

“Mum …” (F/N) murmured, unsure of whether they really were alone. “Can you hear them whispering?”

“Who …?”

“The people behind the veil …”

Adhara trembled. It was suddenly clear to her what that archway was, and she didn’t want to be anywhere near it. (F/N), however, was responding to it the only way she knew how; her blood tingled at the sight of it, and her pulse quickened at the sounds of the departed souls trying to speak to her. The magic in her blood connected her to them in a way Adhara was sure the Department of Mysteries would love to study …

“Darling, when they come back, you must pretend that you know nothing of your father, all right?” said Adhara hurriedly.

“I know, Mum; I was always going to tell them that if they asked," said (F/N) quietly. "What makes you say that so suddenly?”

“Don't worry about that for now, but you must also tell them that you’ve always known that I am your mother, if they ask. Nothing about ‘Auntie Beth’, okay?”

(F/N) was immensely confused. Why all the secrecy? She _knew_ not to say anything about her father, because if the Hounds found out …

The Unspeakables reentered the chamber, followed closely by Cornelius Fudge, several other Ministry officials and, most unfortunately, a woman in a long, blue coat. (F/N) wondered why, if the Minister for Magic himself was to be present for this obvious interrogation, this could not be carried out in one of the courtrooms on Level Ten. She suspected, from the cold and thoroughly unpleasant look the bluecoat gave her, choosing the Department of Mysteries for this inquiry was more for aesthetic and intimidation purposes than practicality.

“As I live and breathe, it is true …” said Fudge, staring at (F/N). He looked to be about three seconds away from having a heart attack, the shock in his eyes was so great. “You really are alive …”

(F/N) didn’t know what to say. She had given responses to so many similar statements that it hardly seemed necessary anymore. And where was Dumbledore …?

“If I may, Minister,” said the bluecoat, sneering at him slightly. Once again, (F/N) found herself faced with a Hound of Nodens, and she did not like the attitude she seemed to have towards everyone. She remembered what her book had said about the Hounds being Muggles, so she thought that, instead of looking down her nose at the witches and wizards in the room, this woman ought to feel more appreciative of being allowed into the magical community’s government headquarters.

Adhara eyed the Hound warily. She didn’t appear to be armed, which was a relief, but she also didn’t know where the others were. She knew as well as her husband and daughter, by now, that the Hounds worked in two groups of four – so it begged the question as to where the other three members of this woman's group were. The same thought occurred to Adhara, though, as that which had crossed her husband’s mind: this Hound was too young to know anything about (F/N) looking like Magnus. She felt her shoulders relax, but only marginally.

“Ah, before we begin …” said the woman, who was pretty but had a very aggressive voice that did not suit her. “… I’d like to speak to this one first. On her own,” She gestured vaguely (and very impolitely) towards (F/N), as though selecting something as mundane as new curtains. The Unspeakables came forward again and lifted Adhara from her seat, before marching her out of the chamber without any time to even look at her daughter, leaving (F/N) completely alone with her interrogators. The Hound paced around in front of (F/N) a few times, sneaking sly glances at her face every so often.

“Are you going to ask her any questions or not?” sighed one of the other women, who were obviously only there to take notes and keep records.

“I’m getting there, witch,” said the Hound unkindly. (F/N) wondered why on earth Fudge, or any of the other officials, would allow anyone to speak to them like that. The Hound then rounded on (F/N), staring straight into her eyes. “First thing’s first. My name is Heidi Rowe, and I represent an organisation of people dedicated to the identification and eradication of necromancers. I am aware that your kind is capable of creating creatures such as zombies, ghosts and the like, but what I am talking about is _true_ necromancy. Bringing someone back to the way they were in life. And _that_ , my dear, is why I want to speak to you,”

“I don’t know what you expect me to tell you,” said (F/N) immediately. “I’ve never raised the dead. I’ve never even so much as created an Inferius,”

“A _what,_ now?”

“An Inferius. It’s a –,”

“Never mind, I don’t actually care,” said Rowe. (F/N) bristled angrily. “You may not have raised the dead yourself – Castor, was it? – but _you were dead._ And now you’re not. I want to know how, and why,”

“I don’t know how,” said (F/N), half-honestly. She didn’t actually know how her father had managed it. “Nor do I know why. I just was,” That … was pretty much a lie. She was brought back because her parents wanted her back.

Rowe sighed deeply through her nose, almost as if she was losing patience already. “My … people, shall we call them, have been rooting out these abominations for _centuries,_ Castor. They’ve been quite successful, too. Until quite recently, we thought we were on the trail of the very last one, but that appears not to have been the case …”

(F/N)’s blood ran cold.

“… To cut a long story short, we killed one about two years ago. Matched the description of the _‘man’_ …” She flexed her fingers as though the person she was talking about was not really a person at all. “… my very own father began hunting in the sixties. Red hair, blue eyes, tall … We caught him all right, made sure he was good and dead, especially after he gave my father and his group the slip about fifteen or so years ago. Caught him in a graveyard …”

“Where are you going with this?” (F/N) asked, pretending to be bored by her even though she had actually just confused her more than she had ever been before. A tall, red-haired, blue-eyed man? That matched her father’s description, but Magnus wasn’t dead. But Rowe _said_ they’d killed a man with these features …

Rowe glared at her. “Where I’m _going with this_ is, that graveyard in which we cornered this unholy beast was the graveyard _you_ were buried in. After that _animal_ killed my brother-in-arms, and we had slain him, we moved the bodies and returned to properly investigate the scene. Someone had cleaned up after the fight, and someone had got rid of the grave. Well, when we learned that a witch who died a decade ago was suddenly back in the land of the living, I knew we had a lead …”

“A lead on _what?”_

“What we want to know, Castor, is who the abomination’s accomplice was,” said Rowe, sneering down her nose at her. “We saw another man – didn’t get a good look at him, mind – standing behind the one we killed, with a body in his arms. Must have been you. So you must know who the other man was too, right? I want you to tell me, because if there’s any chance this other man could also be a necromancer, or someone who works with them, he needs to be culled as well,”

An answer immediately sprung to mind, even though (F/N) felt sick to her stomach to hear all of this dehumanising language being directed at her people. “I have no idea who that might have been,” she said. “I'm told that I was out cold for six months. When I came around, there was no sign of any man,”

Rowe straightened up. She had been hunched over with her hands on her knees, trying to intimidate (F/N) by stooping down to her eye-level. “Right. Then we’re going to ask your mother. Neither of you can be one of these _things_ because as far as we know, they’re all male. But she must know something about the man who brought you home …”

(F/N) wanted to push Rowe through the veil behind her. She wanted to protect her family, but she was helpless to do so. Fortunately, Rowe’s comments seemed to indicate that the Hounds knew far less of (F/N)’s family than they originally feared. The Unspeakables brought Adhara back into the chamber and sat her down several meters away from (F/N). Rowe approached her and began her pacing routine again.

“I’ve just been explaining to your daughter about my organisation’s suspicions that you came into contact with a necromancer, probably about two years ago, now …” she said, leering menacingly at Adhara. She then lapsed into the same tirade about her people and their ‘sacred mission’ to purge the world of these ‘unnatural creatures’. “We know you’re not one yourself, but we want you to tell us who the man was who brought your daughter home again. He was working with the one we killed, and we need to make sure he isn’t providing support to any others out there that we may have missed,”

“I don’t know who he was,” said Adhara convincingly. “I’d never seen him before. He just said that my daughter – who had been murdered a decade earlier – could do a lot of good if given another chance …”

“What sort of good?” Rowe asked sharply.

“Again, I don’t know. She worked for the Ministry before she died, and she fought in the war. She’s a talented witch, I know that much, but it’s not like he stopped to tell me what this was all about,”

Rowe straightened up again, even slower than before. Her coat rustled in the still, quiet chamber. She nodded twice, very deliberately. “You know, Mrs Castor, we’ve got something on you, too …”

Adhara’s heart nearly stopped beating. (F/N) thought she was about to lose her cool and break her cover. “Oh, really? What’s that …?”

“According to your Ministry, your husband vanished some thirty years ago. True?”

“True. You’re not suggesting I had anything to do with it, are you?”

Rowe laughed, a cold, mechanical sound that didn’t seem to fit a human body. “Ah, you’re as cynical as I am. You’d fit in well in my outfit. But no, Mrs Castor, that’s not what I meant. I was just wondering if you might think there was any possibility that he may have thrown in with these creatures? We know that, historically, Spindlewood Common and certain villages in Cornwall and Ireland were known ‘hotspots’ for necromantic practices …”

“No,” said Adhara sharply. “I know he hasn’t thrown in with them because he’s dead. He disappeared, yes, but Muggles found him wandering lost and dazed on the moors a few weeks later. He died shortly after rescue. They didn’t know, of course, but it was a magical experiment gone wrong …”

(F/N) could see how much it hurt her mother to lie like this, but the proverbial gloves were off and she had no choice. She had to shut this woman down before she could come up with any more smart ideas. Even the Minister and his colleagues looked confused.

“Oh, they found him?” said one of the wizards standing by. “I’m … very sorry for your loss, but … why was the Ministry not informed?”

“It was a difficult time,” said Adhara quickly. “I had a very young baby to look after and I … I just thought it was simpler this way …”

_Wow,_ thought (F/N). Her mother was a very quick-thinker. No further questions ensued about Magnus, although (F/N) was curious about the fact that they all seemed to believe Adhara's tale. Her father had been so convinced that, because people had seen him at her funeral, the Ministry would know that he was alive ... Their readiness to accept her mother's lie, though, seemed to confirm Adhara's theory that nobody must have breathed a word to the officials. It was an incredible relief, if so.

Rowe seemed to be at a loss. A very angry loss. She began pacing again, huffing and seething as she went, before finally turning to the Ministry workers and saying, “Fine. Let them go, do whatever you want with them. I’m sure you’ve got some paperwork or something to fill out. I’ve no more questions,”

She stalked out of the room with another nasty sneer at (F/N). Everyone looked extremely relieved to see the back of her.

“Well, now that _she’s_ gone …” said Fudge wearily. “… Honestly, I hope very few Muggles are like that …”

“What, filled with murderous intent?” said (F/N) drily, folding her arms across her chest.

“Ah … yes … I am sorry about that, you know … They sort of … imposed themselves upon the Ministry a few decades ago … We’ve been doing our best to keep them off our backs for years …”

This was (F/N)’s first time meeting Fudge properly (she hadn't crossed paths with him when he was Bagnold's underling), and she had to say that she wasn’t particularly impressed. He seemed very unsure of himself and his stuttering suggested to her that he was not fully convinced by his own words.

“… A-anyway, putting all that aside, we do have a few questions of our own, Miss Castor, if we may? These are unprecedented circumstances, as I’m sure you understand –,”

“Not trying to squeeze out of people information they do not have, are we, Cornelius?”

(F/N) whirled around. There, standing in the blackened doorway above and behind her, was Professor Dumbledore. Her heart soared at the realisation that he really had come to uphold his promise to her at the end of term. Fudge looked affronted by his presence.

“Not at all, Dumbledore. We merely wish –,”

“I can assure you, Cornelius, that young (F/N) here is no more knowledgeable about the intricacies surrounding her return than we are,” said the old headmaster, walking down to join them all in the centre of the room. “Fitting, then, that we should find ourselves in the Department of Mysteries, yes? Some things cannot be explained as easily as we might like, so why not just let this remain a curiosity to the magical community?”

Fudge appeared to be working his mouth to say something equally smart back to Dumbledore, but he couldn’t. Instead, he blurted, “But with Black on the loose, this cannot be a coincidence – if he finds out about Miss Castor –,”

“How could he know about her?” Dumbledore asked calmly. “You have already told me what you believe his motives are, and very few people know about (F/N)’s return. How could a prisoner who has only just escaped Azkaban possibly know that she lives again?”

Fudge was beginning to turn a very interesting shade of pink as Dumbledore consistently put him down. “Do you not think he is a danger to her?” the Minister growled.

(F/N) couldn’t bear it anymore. She almost popped. “Sirius is innocent,” she said suddenly, drawing everyone’s attention as effectively as if she had lit a firework instead. “He didn’t betray James and Lily. I was there; I _know_. And I know he wouldn’t have killed all those Muggles,”

Dumbledore gazed at her sadly, knowing that she believed this wholeheartedly but nobody else did. Fudge gave her a very soft look of sympathy that almost made her wild with anger, anger which very nearly boiled over as he said, “My dear, I am sure it was a terrible ordeal for you, we understand perfectly … I am sure it must be hard for you to hear …”

“No!” she said, urgently yet with quiet fury. “Don’t you dare … Don’t even think about suggesting what I think you are …”

“Miss Castor, _please._ _Anyone_ would feel confused and disoriented after going through what you have. That is why we would like to ask you some questions, to perhaps get to the bottom of your condition and _help_ you …”

“I am not sick, Minister. I am not crazy,” (F/N) seethed. “I was there, and I know what happened. Why won’t you listen?”

Fudge made a face and turned away from her slightly, shaking his head as though he had been speaking to a stubborn child throwing a tantrum. (F/N) couldn’t believe what was happening. Thankfully, Dumbledore stepped in again just as Adhara went to her daughter’s side, wrapping a soothing, protective arm around her and rubbing her shoulders gently. 

“The safest place for (F/N) will be at Hogwarts, where we can make sure no harm comes to her if Black discovers her return …” He glanced at (F/N) and winked at her quickly – almost imperceptibly – before seamlessly continuing with his point. “And besides … Don’t you think Harry Potter would be even safer with his godmother protecting him?”

Fudge turned back to look at Dumbledore. He searched the old wizard’s face for any signs that he was having him on, or whether there was an ulterior motive lurking somewhere. He knew about (F/N)’s relationship to Harry, and while he had his doubts about whether the boy would truly be safe with her – given her vehement denial of Black’s crimes – he also could not deny that, confused though she seemed, (F/N) would be extremely unlikely to undermine Dumbledore in any way, since he had also been protecting her for the last year.

“… Very well,” said Fudge slowly. “You’ve made your point. No more questions for now, but see to it that Miss Castor does keep an eye on young Harry …”

“As if I need to be told …” (F/N) muttered angrily, bristling at being referred to in the third person. Fudge gave her an odd look that seemed to be a mixture of irritation and suspicion.

“You have my word that _all_ Hogwarts staff have only Harry’s very best interests at heart,” said Dumbledore, quickly smoothing the tension over. “Myself and (F/N) especially. However, I hardly think it needs to be said that _this_ …” He gestured around the room and between (F/N) and Fudge in particular. “… will _not_ find its way to the press. Agreed?”

Fudge looked incredibly uncomfortable but nodded somewhat reluctantly, then looked pointedly at the other officials who looked on in bewilderment. They hastily consented to keeping their mouths shut.

“Oh, and before we go, Cornelius … If we could do something about keeping Mr Lucius Malfoy from going to the press as well, that would be appreciated,” said Dumbledore, and the tone of his voice indicated both that (F/N) and her mother should come with him now, and that his ‘request’ of Fudge most certainly was not up for discussion.

Dumbledore turned to leave and (F/N) and Adhara got up, following him from the chamber as quickly as they could without looking as though they were running away. Which they were, if they had to be honest with themselves. They didn’t want to be _anywhere_ the Hounds of Nodens may be lurking.

(F/N) had a lot of questions, but Dumbledore was the first to speak as soon as they were back in the lift, on their way to the Atrium once more. “I am glad to see you are both safe and well. Magnus is also safe, and is waiting for you at home,”

Adhara looked fit to pass out. “Oh, thank goodness …”

“I apologise for coming so late, Miss Castor,” said Dumbledore, looking at (F/N) over the top of his half-moon spectacles. “I was not in my office when your father called, and it took him a little while to find me. I came as soon as he told me what had happened,”

(F/N) nodded. “Thank you for coming regardless,” she said quietly. She knew they were about to reach their floor. “I dread to think what Fudge and his tagalongs would have asked me,”

The doors dinged and slid open, revealing the Atrium beyond. However, instead of walking with them back through the golden gates and towards the exit, Dumbledore thought better of it and herded the Castors behind a solid wall just before them. “I think Apparition might be best, hm?”

The women nodded and Apparated separately, seeing the flaw in using one of the exit fireplaces in the Atrium, or even the visitor door at the end of the room. If people hadn’t recognised (F/N) walking with her mother and the Unspeakables earlier on, they certainly would if she was walking with Albus Dumbledore.

Back in Spindlewood Common, Magnus was peering out of the living room window into the front garden, anxiously tweaking the blinds, waiting for his wife and daughter to come up the path. He had raised the protective enchantments on the house again, so he hadn’t expected them to Apparate into the room behind him with Dumbledore alongside them. Magnus nearly jumped out of his skin.

“How did you do that?” he gasped, sitting on the windowsill and clutching his chest.

“Your enchantments are our enchantments, love,” said Adhara with a smile. She walked up to him and wrapped him in a soft hug, kissing the top of his head. She couldn’t reach him unless he was sat down. Magnus embraced her just as readily, burying his head into her shoulder.

“Thank goodness you’re safe …” he breathed, hardly daring to believe they had escaped unharmed, but immensely grateful all the same. “Both of you …”

(F/N) was staring at her father as though seeing him for the first time. All of her questions seemed answerable by him, and him alone. She was glad, of course, that he had gone to fetch Dumbledore, but …

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” asked Magnus, pushing off the windowsill. “What … what did they say to you? They didn’t actually hurt either of you …?”

(F/N) could see that her father was getting worried, so she shook her head and turned away slightly. She didn’t know where to begin. Fortunately, Dumbledore and Adhara filled Magnus in on what happened at the Ministry.

“There was a Hound there, Mags …” said Adhara softly. Magnus looked at her with extreme fear in his eyes but she rubbed his back reassuringly. “We both lied to her pretty well, I think,”

“The Hound or me?” (F/N) said suddenly.

Her parents stared at her. “What do you mean, darling?” Magnus murmured. He was confused, but something about the way his daughter was beginning to pace around the room was giving him goosebumps. What did she know?

“I mean, who lied to whom?” (F/N) growled. “The Hound said they killed someone at the graveyard the night I was brought back to life, a man with red hair. They wanted to know who his ‘accomplice’ was because there was another man holding me in his arms – that must have been you, Dad – but that doesn’t explain the fact that they _confirmed_ the death of another. So who was he? _'_ _Lie'_ may have been a bit of a strong word on my part, but you’re definitely hiding something …”

Magnus felt his stomach drop. The Hound had told her far more than even Adhara realised. “What did that Hound say to _you_ , exactly …?” he asked carefully. (F/N) told him, recounting everything she remembered, including the Hound’s apparently psychopathic hatred of Hekans.

“She doesn’t suspect me or Mum of anything, but Mum had to lie and say you were dead, even though you said people would have seen you at my funeral, and we _both_ had to tell this Rowe woman that we had no idea who brought me home … So what aren’t you telling me?”

(F/N)’s voice was sharp and her parents could tell that she was getting quite worked up. Dumbledore, who had been standing silently by, could see that the situation wasn’t getting any less awkward and so excused himself, advising (F/N) that he would write to her soon to discuss a matter he had been hoping to speak to her about anyway. (F/N) was left, slowly beginning to seethe, with her mother and father who looked extremely guilty all of a sudden.

“(F/N), love, you must understand …” said Magnus nervously. Those feelings of deep concern completely overrode his relief that no one at (F/N)'s funeral had reported that he was still alive. That made things much easier for him, but he feared that consoling his daughter would now be nothing short of backbreaking.

“Tell me what I need to know first, _then_ I’ll try to understand,” (F/N) snapped. How many more people were withholding information from her? As if it wasn’t bad enough that people she thought had loved her very possibly didn’t, it seemed that even the people who she _knew_ loved her weren’t telling her everything she thought she might actually _need_ to know.

“(F/N), please don’t be angry with me,” said Magnus, a little more firmly this time. _For all the good telling her not to will do_ , he thought. As a young man, he, too, had been given to strong emotion and his temper had been one of his worst traits. If his daughter was anything like him, her anger would be hard to control – especially with everything she had already been through. “I didn’t know how to tell you about _anything_ that happened that night … After ten years of searching, it all happened so fast …”

(F/N) felt as though her muscles were electrically charged and she could hardly keep still. The scars on her left side – her arm, especially – itched as she felt her emotions bubbling. She thought she had this under control …

“I suppose it would be sensible to start from the beginning,” said Magnus carefully, as Adhara sat herself down on the sofa, anxiously watching (F/N). “I grew up in Spindlewood Common, just as you did. My family has always lived here. However, your grandfather – my father – was killed by the Hounds when I was quite young, and my mother moved us away for a time so that I would be safe. We returned just before I started at Hogwarts, where I later met your mother. We came back here, and life was great, but when you were about six weeks old a couple of Hounds moved to our street – a husband and wife pair – and I had to make a split-second decision …”

(F/N) stared at her father, listening intently but hardly moving - or breathing, for that matter.

“I left you and your mother; faked my death, and went on the run. Your mother assumed her estranged sister's name and pretended to be a Squib - to them, an ordinary Muggle - so they wouldn't suspect you of being a witch, let alone the daughter of a Hekan. I knew they were there looking for me and my family. They caught my father here before and, historically, this has been one of the villages most associated with our kind, just as Rowe told you …”

“Why would you leave us here, _right under their noses?”_

Magnus gave her a weak smile. “They were always looking for a man, right? I didn’t realise before – until you told me what Rowe said, that is – but they must not know that ‘the last of our kind’, if you want to put it that way, is actually a woman. They think we’re all male, so you couldn’t _possibly_ be one, in their opinion …”

He gave a short sigh before continuing.

“I didn’t have this information when things started looking dangerous again. Back then, I took a gamble. If we all upped and left town, they would have been suspicious. I couldn’t do that to my family – my wife, who had not long given birth, and my infant daughter, the only child I would ever have and the first female in our line for centuries … So, as I said, I faked my death, fled town, and took the chance on these Hounds never thinking to look right under their noses …”

(F/N) was horrified, but understood at the same time. There was hardly any point getting angry about a decision made some thirty years ago. She hadn’t been killed by the Hounds, so her father’s plan had worked. Her only regret was that she had grown up fatherless, and for all intents and purposes 'motherless', too. Although, that still didn’t explain ...

Magnus interrupted her thoughts. “When Voldemort killed you, I thought it was all over. I hadn’t received my powers from my father, because he died before he could ‘teach’ me – if you can call it that – and so I couldn’t bring you back. I thought I was the last of us. I couldn’t give up, though … not on you … so I travelled. I searched far and wide for other Hekans in the hope that one of them – even _one_ – might have developed our magic in addition to their own, just like you and I have of other races …”

(F/N) remembered what ‘the book’ said about that. She gave her father a small nod. She felt guilty for being so angry with him, seeing and hearing how earnestly he was explaining himself, but she just couldn’t help it. She felt duped again, as she had when she found out that her mother had been the one to raise her all along.

“I got a letter when I was in Belgrade. The person who had written it told me to come back here, to Spindlewood Common, and I met him at the church. That was when I realised I wasn’t the last one, and this was my only chance to bring you back. He taught me my magic, even though it hurt him, and the more I think about it the more comes to light …”

Magnus was shaking, hard, and suddenly looked quite unwell. (F/N) saw this and asked, “Who was he?”

“… Fintan Moran,”

(F/N) felt her brain stop for a moment, completely unable to comprehend what she had just been told, before it started up again at a much slower pace than before. “W-what …?”

She thought suddenly that she really ought not to have been surprised to learn that Moran – one of her most beloved teachers – was also Hekan. She had already surmised that his abilities as a seer were not quite … normal, even among other talented practitioners of Divination. Suddenly, memories of her Divination N.E.W.T came flooding back to her, and everything made sense …

She saw in Moran’s past that he had died. Well, now she knew that he must have done, if he was able to raise the dead and ‘teach’ other Celtic Hekans their craft. It also explained why he had told her _“Just because no one has done something, or you haven’t heard of anyone doing it, doesn’t make that thing impossible.”_ He had then gone on to impart the _specific_ advice, _“Just because no one has truly brought the dead back to life, does not mean that it is not possible …”_

She had thought it strange at the time, but had never taken his words beyond face value.

Tears welled up in her eyes. Hot, angry tears. “He’s dead …” she gasped, the tears overflowing and spilling down her face. “He’s dead … Why didn’t he come with us? Why didn’t he just bring me back after I died …?”

Magnus looked wretched. It had just dawned on him why Moran had actually stayed. “He said he’d seen the way things had to play out, long before they actually happened,” he said hoarsely. He explained what Moran had told him, which did nothing to ease (F/N)’s obvious pain, but neither would his realisation … “It wouldn’t have mattered if he came with us or not. We all would have been safe …” he said brokenly, looking at his daughter with immense sadness and guilt. “He _chose_ to stay, though, because they wouldn't have been satisfied until they caught one of us. Moran would have known they were looking for a _tall_ , _red-haired man ..._ so he offered himself up as bait … a bloody _decoy_ …” His voice petered out into little more than a whisper.

(F/N) was beside herself. She shook her head from side to side, almost as if physically jumping from one question to another, trying to work out what to say. Finally, she burst, “Why?! Why did he have to die so that _I_ could live?! Why –,”

“Oh, come on, (F/N),” said Magnus incredulously, through tears of his own. Moran's death hurt him too, he wanted to remind (F/N). Adhara sat by, a hand covering her mouth as tears flowed freely down her cheeks. “You know why! I _told_ you why!”

“So that our _race_ won’t die out?” (F/N) bit back. Her tone was like ice, and as bitter as a January wind.

Magnus’ eyes were bright and his skin was flushed. Suddenly, he also felt very angry. “No, because I love my daughter and I want her to live,” he said, as calmly as he could. “But, since you brought it up, would it really be so bad if our bloodline _did_ survive? If we beat the odds?”

(F/N) didn’t seem to hear him say that he loved her, and latched on to his parting comment instead. “So I’m just breeding stock then, is that it?” she fumed, beginning to pace the living room again just as Rowe had in the Department of Mysteries.

Magnus was clenching his jaw so hard he thought he would start breaking teeth. “No!” he said. “How could you ask such a thing?”

“Because that’s what it sounds like to me!”

“Well, that’s not how it is!” Magnus shouted. Adhara jumped. (F/N) looked like she was about to try and physically fight him.

“Forgive me if I don’t meekly accept everything you say, _Dad …”_ (F/N) snapped, feeling herself beginning to spiral out of control in her fury. “… It seems you’ve been keeping a lot of secrets, so how can I rest knowing you’re probably not telling me the whole truth?”

Something snapped in Magnus, so much so he actually heard it in his mind – like guitar strings breaking. “I may have kept some secrets from you, (F/N), but I have _never_ lied to you –!”

“I THOUGHT I WAS RAISED BY MY AUNT!” (F/N) shouted, lashing out with the first thing she could think of, something she did, in fact, feel as though she had been lied to about.

“DON’T BRING YOUR MOTHER INTO THIS!” Magnus roared.

Something shattered in the kitchen. Both father and daughter were shaking uncontrollably. The scars on (F/N)’s arm burned, rain from nowhere pummelled the windows and Magnus thought he was about to Apparate somewhere outside of his control – just as (F/N)’s emotions could sometimes adversely affect the weather, Magnus had always struggled to control his ability to Apparate when he got very upset. He had Apparated before and ended up completely lost; other times he had done it and ended up _inside_ something (he had found himself knee-deep in a park bench, once, but was completely unharmed).

(F/N) turned and stormed out of the room, making straight for the front door. She slammed it shut behind her, but Magnus Apparated to the front path (surprising himself with his accuracy) and grabbed her before she could get too far.

“Don’t be childish, (F/N), you’re not going anywhere in this storm and _not_ with those bastards on the prowl –,”

“Let go of me!” (F/N) screamed as Magnus Apparated them both back inside the house. “You’re not the only one who can Apparate, all right?”

“No, but I’m the only one who can do it without splinching themselves,” said Magnus coolly. “Just calm down, all right?”

“No, I will not fucking calm down –!”

“(F/N), do not swear at me …”

“DON’T TREAT ME LIKE A CHILD!” she shrieked. “I am a fully-grown woman –,”

“A fully-grown woman who is _acting_ like a child, and who is going to get herself hurt or _killed_ if she doesn’t CHILL OUT!”

Adhara was listening from the living room, rocking gently back and forth. She knew Magnus had a fiery temper, and while she had fortunately never seen (F/N)’s, she had always suspected that she had inherited her father’s. She was glad she had soundproofed the house or the neighbours would be calling the police at any minute …

A crash of thunder sounded overhead and the rain poured harder than ever. (F/N) was breathing hard and fast, and she was so hot in her anger that she actually felt cold.

“Get out of my way, Dad,”

“(F/N), you’re being unreasonable …” said Magnus, who was blocking (F/N)’s path to the front door. She wouldn’t Apparate because even she recognised that she was too unfocused right now.

_“Get out of my way!”_

“NO!”

(F/N) didn’t know what happened. An unseen force grabbed Magnus and threw him against the banister of the stairs, snapping one of the balusters and leaving him so shocked that he didn’t think to pick himself up for a moment. It was a moment long enough for (F/N) to tear from the house, though, leaving the front door wide open, and hare up the front path into the street. Adhara heard the crash of Magnus hitting the stairs, but by the time she got to him (F/N) was already gone.

(F/N) ran and ran, the rain biting her face and puddles splashing up her legs. She flew into the countryside with no destination in mind, but her feet took her over the moors to the shady copse where she used to keep Aeolus when he came home with her for the holidays. She stalked up and down, and around in circles, the wet grass squelching underfoot. She stopped abruptly and, unable to contain herself any longer, let loose a long, loud, angry scream at the ground. A pair of pigeons fled a nearby tree in fear, and (F/N) dropped to her knees with a soft, wet thud. She stared miserably into the stormy grey sky as it continued to rain onto her face, dousing her already-soaking skin, hair and clothes.

She was exhausted.

She thought back to her argument with her father, now a whole hour ago, and deeply regretted the things she had said – and done. She covered her face with her hands and burst into more tears, but these were of guilt. How could she let her anger get the best of her like that? She could have seriously injured him. And he had, after all, only fought her because he loved her. None of their lives had ever been simple, or clear-cut. None of them had had it easy. He had offered her an explanation for a _lot_ of things, and she had attacked him with the new information because she was already angry.

(F/N) sniffled into her hands before looking up and wiping her eyes on her sleeve. Her scars no longer hurt, but her chest felt heavy and she was miserable. She had behaved childishly. She knew why, though.

Moran had been yet another fatality because of her. In her mind, he should not have died. Why couldn’t she have just been left to rest instead of brought back into this world of uncertainty and heartache?

_“For Harry,”_ said a small voice in the back of her head. _“And because Mum and Dad love you,”_

(F/N) picked herself up off the grass. Her knees and shins were muddy and grass-stained – and wet, like the rest of her – but she didn’t care. The storm was subsiding and the resulting petrichor was refreshing. A blackbird started to sing in a nearby bush, and a gentler wind rustled the leaves of the trees all around her. If she closed her eyes and really listened, she could even hear the raindrops dripping from branches and leaves onto those below them. She felt … peaceful.

As soon as her breathing had fully returned to normal, (F/N) Apparated home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy, folks! I hope you're all keeping safe and well.
> 
> I just wanted to leave this note here to let you all know that, while I will attempt to give you some more new chapters quite soon (or at least by the end of June as per my 'usual' upload schedule), I offer in advance my sincerest apologies for any potential delays - I have two university assignments / exams due in the middle of the month, and I am also in the process of essentially becoming self-employed, so there will be a lot of preparations for me to make. 
> 
> I greatly appreciate your patience and understanding as always, because you have all shown yourselves to be lovely people, and I really hope you enjoy my latest uploads. As I said, though, I will do my very, very best to make sure you've got some more new material as soon as I can get it out!
> 
> All my love, and stay healthy!
> 
> \- SooperChicken


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone,
> 
> I'm so sorry for the delayed upload; it's been such a busy month. I hope you enjoy the next two chapters, but I've got another one on the go so that should be up soon as well.
> 
> I hope you're all keeping safe and well.
> 
> \- SooperChicken

Magnus and Adhara had never been so worried in their lives. Adhara had certainly never seen her daughter fly off the handle like that, and Magnus blamed himself for inflaming her temper so much. She was surely his daughter, because that was how he would have behaved too, if he was angry and someone was stoking him …

He had thought about Apparating after (F/N), to catch her before she went too far, but the dull ache in his arm where he had hit the banister – and the sight of the broken baluster itself – served as very good reasons why he was wise not to have followed. So, he had remained at the house, pacing up and down, running his hands through his hair and clenching his jaw so hard it hurt.

He understood (F/N)’s anger; he truly did. But why did she blow up so violently? He knew she had always been fierce, but he didn’t recall anyone telling stories of her having a temper as bad as that …

There was a faint _pop_ upstairs. Instead of Apparating towards the sound, Magnus ran upstairs, followed closely by Adhara. (F/N)’s bedroom door was closed but Magnus knocked gently before letting himself in. (F/N) was sitting on the edge of her bed, already wearing pyjamas, but her hair was soaking wet and she looked terribly wan. He entered carefully, as though stepping into a lion's den, and stood at the end of her bed, gazing worriedly at her.

“… I’m so sorry …” she whispered without looking up. “I didn’t mean to …”

Magnus had been cross with her – furious, in fact – but it squeezed his heart painfully to see her so broken and tearful, and although he was concerned about what could be going through her mind to make her so uncontrollably angry, and volatile enough to throw such a fit, he quickly found himself forgiving her. After all, he had been much the same after his father was killed. He sat down next to her on the bed and pulled her, without hesitation, into a soft hug. She was shaking still, but otherwise seemed quite calm.

“It’s all right, love,” he said gently. “No harm done,”

“You’re not hurt?”

“No. Neither is the banister,”

(F/N) groaned a little against his chest as he held her, rocking her gently like a small child. She was embarrassed as well as regretful, and this in spite of her father's previous comment being an obvious attempt at humour, but she didn’t know what else to say. She was just glad she hadn’t hurt Magnus in her outburst.

“… Do you want to talk about it?” he asked quietly.

He was sure that (F/N) stopped breathing for a moment, but she eventually shrugged her shoulders. To him, that gesture seemed to indicate that she didn’t want to talk – not really – but if _he_ wanted to then he was welcome to start them off.

Magnus gave a short little sigh through his nose. He could sense Adhara standing in the doorway behind them, listening. “Are _you_ all right?” he began, realising that he wasn’t the only one who had been emotionally wounded by their furious exchange.

(F/N) nodded against him.

“… I’m so glad you’re not hurt ...” he whispered, holding her a little tighter. “… I was terrified that you weren’t going to come back,”

“… I’m sorry I worried you,” said (F/N) in a small voice. She really did feel like a little girl.

“I shouldn’t have kept on at you,” he blurted. “I could see you were hurting, but so was I, and I think we both handled it all wrong. What …” He paused, choosing his next words carefully. “What set you off, love?”

(F/N) started to cry all over again, and it all came spilling out. How she felt about being brought back to life; how she felt responsible for Lily and James’ deaths and how she also now felt responsible for Moran’s; how overwhelmed she felt in learning about her family’s history and their strange powers and how they had been in mortal danger for centuries – _that_ seemed to be just another thing to worry about. She wept and told him that she couldn’t cope with all the secrets just … _coming out_ as they did; she wished she could just be sat down and told, very frankly, what was going on and what she should expect.

Magnus and Adhara wanted to cry, too. To them, (F/N)’s case was a classic example of everything getting on top of a person, and the worst thing was, they could do nothing to ease her pain except reassure her that she truly was not to blame for anyone’s death. Magnus, knowing how dangerous their magic could be (thanks to their bloodline’s misfortunes), also realised that they still could not afford to let these intense emotions get the better of (F/N). An idea sprung to mind: to give his daughter new direction.

“(F/N), darling …” Magnus murmured, rubbing (F/N)’s arm gently. “… I know these recent years have been hard for you, but you must be strong. You live again because you are loved, and you are wanted. _Very_ much so. We can understand and appreciate that you are angry, and distrustful, but you must look to the future. Now that we have our blood magic, think of all the good we could do if You-Know-Who returns …”

(F/N)’s ears pricked up at that. She hadn’t considered … even with the business involving the Chamber of Secrets ... that Voldemort _would_ eventually come back. No one but Dumbledore had heard the prophecy about Harry Potter, but he had told the Order about it so that they could work to protect against Voldemort’s influence, and help defend the Potters (and the Longbottoms). That prophecy – if the last year’s events were anything to go by – had not yet been fulfilled. Harry may have vanquished the Dark Lord as an infant, but he also appeared to have existed in a diary for many years and had been asserting control over people in order to do his bidding. If that didn’t stink of a comeback then (F/N) didn’t know what did.

“We’re the last of our kind, (F/N), but if we work together as a family we may be able to undo a lot of damage in the years to come. It won’t be easy – hell, it’ll probably even do us more physical harm than good – but what good is being able to raise the dead if we don’t do it to save the ones who don’t deserve to die?”

(F/N) thought of Lily and James. It was just too cruel that they had to stay dead while she got another crack at life. It was cruel, too, that her father had been denied the opportunity to learn his magic before his own father died – the only one at the time who could teach it to him – and thus pass the knowledge on to her when the time came. If she had been able to raise the dead a decade ago, she would not have needed to hide in Godric’s Hollow with her friends – she could simply have gone there once the danger had passed, and brought them back if the worst had happened …

(F/N) sat up straight and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “I’ll do anything to avenge my friends,” she said hoarsely. “And I’ll do anything for Harry. I’ll do _anything_ to make sure he’s safe, and that he can put an end to all of this … this …”

She was struggling to find the right word. ‘Evil’ didn’t quite cut it. Magnus nodded solemnly, secretly pleased that his daughter seemed to have warmed to the idea of having a new purpose. With luck, she would channel her energy into fighting Dark magic again – even if necromancy was rather Dark magic itself. He hoped that, with time, she would forgive herself of the ‘crimes’ she had invented and accused herself and learn to trust people again.

The atmosphere was slowly draining of its tension, a sure sign that the overall mood was improving. Magnus hugged (F/N) again, and this time Adhara came in to join them. With a small chuckle, signalling to (F/N) that he wasn’t cross anymore, Magnus said, “You know, I used to lose it sometimes as well,”

“Used to?” (F/N) asked, raising an eyebrow.

“All right, all right, fair point,” said Magnus. “But still. I used to get into all sorts of mischief, especially when I got angry or upset,”

(F/N) turned and gave her father a small smile. “Really?” This took her back to when she had wondered if she would ever meet another Hekan who struggled with their ‘malediction’. She knew their ‘problem’ was a far shout from what an actual Maledictus suffered (plus, Maledictuses were always female), but she completely understood their plight.

“Oh, yes,” said Magnus, and he proceeded to tell her the park bench story. She laughed.

“Merlin, I hope I don’t throw another tantrum and turn into an alligator, or something …” said (F/N), feeling much better than she did before. “Then again, I suppose I’ve already proven what my ‘issue’ is when I get upset,”

Magnus rubbed her arm again and Adhara squeezed her hand. “Whatever you’re thinking or feeling, love, we’re here to support you. We’re all here to look after each other,” said Adhara softly.

(F/N) looked at her and gave her a small smile. “Thanks, Mum,”

The family moved on, banishing any worries or hard feelings to the backs of their minds. For now, there were still three whole weeks to go before (F/N) had to return to Hogwarts … and she _really_ needed to sleep.

***

A letter from Dumbledore came for (F/N) the very next morning as she was sitting at the kitchen table, toying with a bowl of cereal. The owl fluttered through the kitchen door and landed on the draining board next to the sink, and she gently stroked its feathers when she got up to take her post.

It read:

_Dear (F/N),_

_I hope my letter finds you well._

_I would like to express my apologies to you once again for not making it to your ‘hearing’ at the Ministry. It must have been very difficult for you, and very unnerving besides. I sincerely hope you are feeling yourself again._

_When I returned to your house with you and your mother yesterday, I had hoped to speak with you about your position as a nurse at Hogwarts. However, I could see that it would have to wait, which is (given the circumstances) perfectly understandable._

_You have proven yourself an outstanding healer, even in the relatively short time you have been with us, and you have a certain way with the students who come to you, going above and beyond in your duties. I would therefore like to formally extend to you the offer of a position among the teaching staff, to work alongside some of our other professors and deliver to our students your valuable knowledge, as well as the enthusiasm you always showed for your studies._

_We are not introducing any new subjects to the school curriculum at present, however if you are interested in the position you would serve the school as a ‘joint’ professor, of sorts. While one of the numerous effects of the war has been the reduction of class sizes, it has been suggested by some of our current professors that a rearrangement of the school day might prove beneficial to students by enabling them to take some classes more frequently, but without placing additional strain on the teachers of these subjects. After some consideration, I have concluded that only one new teacher needs to be hired to implement these changes to the timetable, and the Board of Governors agrees that distributing lessons and subjects between more teachers will positively impact the students’ learning._

_Again, if you are interested, the subjects you will be teaching are as follows: Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Potions, Care of Magical Creatures (a special request from our other new teacher of the subject) and History of Magic. Since you will be working alongside other professors, the topics for each subject will be divided between you and you will have regular meetings to discuss student progress and plan lessons. If, however, you would prefer to keep your position as a nurse, you are more than welcome to do so and there will be no questions asked._

_Please do take some time to think about whether this is something you would like to do, and send a letter back to me at your earliest convenience. Professor McGonagall has already expressed her approval of the idea of your becoming a teacher, and this letter to you is proof of my own. I believe you would make an invaluable contribution to our students’ school careers, although your impact as a nurse has also been tremendous._

_Poppy also knows of this proposal, and asked me to mention that, while she wholeheartedly supports and recommends you as a teacher, she will be sad to lose you from the hospital wing should you choose to accept my offer. That said, you will be welcomed with open arms in whichever job you take._

_I look forward to hearing from you in due course, but if you have any questions at all, please do not hesitate to ask._

_I am, yours most sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

(F/N) could hardly breathe. She even forgot how to blink. She had been so sure, at first, that she was about to be let go from her job and yet, miraculously, she was instead being offered the job she had always dreamed of. A brief worry flitted across her mind that she would not be good enough to teach the students anything, and that her recent outburst compounded that damning opinion of herself, but that concern was quickly replaced with excitement.

Whatever her flaws, Dumbledore – and Minerva and Poppy – thought she had what it took to be a professor. (F/N) scanned the letter again, revelling in the subjects she was being asked to teach. She was surprised at History of Magic, but then she supposed injecting a bit of passion into her lessons – a stark contrast to ghostly old Professor Binns’ lessons – might help students to learn more effectively. Her own grade hadn’t been that bad after her O.W.Ls (better than expected, at any rate) so she didn’t think it would be too taxing to teach. She was, after all, beginning to take a very personal interest in magical history because of her family. Perhaps the job would also give her some new opportunities to explore her origins, she thought.

Adhara and Magnus walked into the kitchen, took one look at (F/N) and noticed the happy little smile she wore.

“What’s with the grin, fairy?” said Adhara, smiling back at her. (F/N) showed her parents the letter, and soon they were grinning from ear to ear just as she was.

“That’s _fantastic,_ love!” said Magnus enthusiastically. “Are you going to write back?”

“Of course!” she gushed, and began fiddling about looking for parchment and ink. “This is a dream come bloody true! Pardon my language …”

Her mother and father were beside themselves with glee. Not only that, but they suspected her new appointment would work wonders on her self-esteem and help to distract her from her (obviously) misplaced guilt. She would be ideally situated to interact with Harry, too, instead of relying on him needing medical assistance (which, by its very nature, was not exactly a good thing).

(F/N), meanwhile, was doing her best not to scribble her reply to Dumbledore, but use her neatest handwriting while her hands shook with excitement. She felt like a little girl writing to Santa. She quickly distracted herself from the thought, realising for herself that this meant she would very likely end up teaching Harry. Her heart leapt at the prospect.

She finished her letter to Dumbledore and sealed it in an envelope before giving it to the owl, who was still loitering on the draining board. As it took her letter in its beak and took flight out of the kitchen door again, (F/N) was reminded of Harry once more. She had sent his birthday present the evening before his birthday and she hoped he had liked it, even if he didn’t know who it was from …

While she waited for Dumbledore’s next letter (or perhaps a visit – whichever he decided), (F/N) occupied herself with coming up with basic plans for how she was going to approach each of ‘her’ subjects. The first thing to consider was the other teacher she would be working with. Minerva for Transfiguration and Filius for Charms – both of which she was very excited about. She didn’t know who the new DADA teacher would be, nor the CoMC teacher, but she was looking forward to meeting them. Professor Binns – whom, like Kettleburn, she would never find herself calling by his first name – would be a bit different because she couldn’t imagine having meetings with him about their students, but she supposed they would bridge that gap when they came to it. And then there was Severus …

It didn’t strike (F/N) as being very probable that Severus would enjoy sharing his subject of expertise with a second teacher. More likely, he would see it as some sort of infringement, and as though the suggestion had been made that he wasn’t doing his job properly. (F/N) was more than good enough at Potions herself to teach the subject alongside him, and their argument in their second year at school be damned – with each other’s help, they had come into their own in the subjects the other had been better at. Severus had helped her in Potions, and she had helped him in CoMC.

 _Calm down,_ she told herself. She didn’t _know_ how Severus was going to react. She told herself that she was surmising based on nothing. For all she knew, he’d be glad to not have to plan every single lesson for every single potion on the syllabus. He’d been doing it for years already, but as Dumbledore had said in his letter, the other teachers were now being given the opportunity to not be stretched so thinly.

She kept telling herself this, over and over again, until she was just a little convinced.

Later that afternoon, (F/N) was sitting in the living room with her parents when another news report about Sirius appeared on the telly. She tried very hard not to pay attention, but quickly discovered that this would be an impossible task. He still had not been apprehended, which gave her an immensely powerful surge of joy (she kept this entirely to herself, of course). She could tell that her mother and father were still unsure of her claims that Sirius was innocent, but she wasn’t going to raise the subject again unless someone approached her directly.

That night, she sat on her bedroom windowsill, gazing out at the countryside bathed in bright white moonlight. She sat with her knees up to her stomach, and she fiddled gently and absentmindedly with her necklace. She had worn it every day since Lily had given it to her, the same Christmas that she had given her a charmed necklace, too. (F/N) had even worn it when she was killed, and when she was buried, although she noticed that someone had obviously cleaned it for her, since it would have been quite bloody after her death …

The enchantment on the necklace survived, though, and whenever she touched it she felt close to her best friend, even though they were apart …

Tears welled in her eyes again, and she swore, right there and then, that she would do everything in her power to be a good influence on Harry. For Lily, for James, and for Harry himself, she would fight for the boy and guide him as best as she could. She would love him and care for him and, when the time was right, she would tell him who she really was and nurture him like they were blood. She could never hope to be Lily, to step into her shoes, or be half as good as she was, but she could certainly live by her example. She would fulfil her own role to the best of her ability and honour her friend – her sister – by loving Harry like his mother had.

She gave a great, shaky sigh and climbed down off the windowsill, then padded across the room to her bed. She slipped between the sheets, leaving the duvet off because it was much too hot, then picked up the bottle on her bedside table labelled ‘Dreamless Sleep Potion’. She had been taking it for quite some time. She took her usual dose before curling up on her side and trying to sleep. (F/N) did not know at what point sleep claimed her but she was glad when it did, because she didn’t want to think anymore.

The next morning, despite having had no dreams whatsoever, (F/N)’s thoughts were almost entirely consumed by memories of people she had known and loved, but who were no longer with her. She wondered how often these bouts of the blues would occur, before realising that the reason she asked herself this was because she also secretly wondered if there were any hard and fast answers as to how to stop feeling this way. She knew better, because these ‘blues’ were more like ‘dark greys’ and she simply couldn’t see through the fog of despair whenever it descended upon her. She would simply have to wait it out.

She ate breakfast, staunchly ignoring her father’s portable television and the moving pictures on the front page of his newspaper as he sat opposite her, and zoned out of the real world to dabble in the past. She thought of Lily, as usual, and she started remembering little things such as how Lily used to find it funny that (F/N) always used to be up at the crack of dawn, reading until the other girls woke up. How they used to muck about, and choke on their morning toast, laughing at each other’s silliness. (F/N) remembered how, after she had subscribed to the _Daily Prophet,_ Lily always used to spirit it away and read it before she got a chance.

Her thoughts moved to James. She remembered the time he tried to jinx either Lily, Severus or herself, but missed and turned Cecily Moseley's head into a pineapple. She remembered how he had caught her in the Forest with Aeolus for the first time, but he and Sirius had respected her enough to not go to Professor McGonagall. (F/N) didn’t _truly_ believe their decision had anything to do with her threat of telling McGonagall on them in retaliation. She also fondly recalled the time James had high-fived her for taking Sirius down a peg one day in the Great Hall. Then all of the other nice things he did afterwards, such as invite her to hang out with them when he and Lily started getting close, the friendly hugs and the way he would always lend a listening ear. She remembered all his silly, funny little jokes and his even funnier laugh …

(F/N) didn’t want to think about Pettigrew, but remembering James’ laugh reminded her of Sirius’ laugh, more specifically when Sirius was clutching his sides because Pettigrew had smashed his cup of bird entrails in one of Moran’s lessons.

 _Moran._ (F/N) wished she could speak to him again, if only once. She couldn’t believe the last time she had spoken to him was in the Great Hall, right after her N.E.W.Ts. She wished she could thank him, apologise to him, _anything_ … He had saved her, and she had no way of showing him appreciation for his sacrifice.

She hated herself. She had been so selfish when she had wished, in the copse on the moor, that she could have just been left alone in her grave.

Magnus folded his paper and gave his daughter a long, searching look with eyes full of concern. “Are you all right, love? What are you thinking about?”

(F/N) was startled by his question and nearly dropped her mug. “N-nothing …!” she stuttered hastily.

“It’s obviously not nothing …”

She gave a little sigh. “I was thinking about Moran, all right?” She was grateful for the concern, but she didn’t want to talk about it. It hurt enough as it was …

Magnus nodded slowly. He wasn’t offended by her snappishness, mostly because he understood that she was going through a lot. Too much, in fact. He knew she wouldn’t lash out at work, but that was why he and Adhara were fully prepared to help her through her struggles when she came home, when she was free to think and feel whatever came naturally to her.

He stood up quietly and came around to her side. (F/N) stood too, suddenly feeling restless, but Magnus stood slightly in her way. “You know, before the Hounds got him, he told me to give you his love,” he said, and pulled her into a gentle hug. He rocked her a little from side to side, soothing her aching soul, before softly kissing her forehead. “He cared about you a great deal, (F/N). He would not have given his life for you if not, never mind as willingly as he did. Please, don’t _ever_ doubt that people love – and loved – you,”

(F/N) was nearly in tears again. Moran had cared. Her parents cared. Haydn and Edith and Vulcan cared. Dumbledore, Minerva, Hagrid … She knew they did, too. She nodded at her father and gave him a brave but tearful smile. “Dad, I have been wondering something …” she began tentatively.

“What’s up, sweetheart?”

“If our magic could do a lot of good in a few years’ time, when everything kicks off again, why couldn’t it just be you and Moran working together? Why did you need me?”

Magnus smiled softly, but his eyes were also oddly bright. “I’ve been thinking the same thing, but with you and Moran instead,” he said honestly. “Your mother and I wanted you back. Because you’re Hekan, if I could just find a way to activate my magic – or find someone else who could do the same thing – you could be brought back anytime. Moran knew about your blood, so he started making plans because he wanted you to live as well,”

He paused, taking a very deep breath before continuing.

“I’ve asked myself lots of times what Moran would have said if I’d told him to take you and run. He wouldn’t have done it. Not just out of principle, but because he wouldn’t have divided a family. You’re young and you have potential … You still have your whole life ahead of you. And, if you’re still doubting _that,_ just remember what that Hound at the Ministry said: they were looking for a man with red hair. So it _had_ to be one of us. If we both fled the graveyard, we would all still be in danger,”

(F/N) heaved another great, shaky sigh, closed her eyes and nodded. It was so unfair that someone as good, wise and kind as Moran, or her father, would have to give themselves up because the world the Hounds had created was quite literally not big enough for the three of them ...

It made her unspeakably angry.

Her mood was improved by the arrival of another letter from Dumbledore later that morning, however. She had been looking forward to hearing from him again, especially as she was now going to be a professor. He had written to say that he was extremely pleased that (F/N) had accepted his offer, and also to ask if she would be available for a meeting in his office at the end of the following week to discuss her new position. Of course, this gave (F/N) something very substantial to look forward to, and she spent the rest of the week in good spirits, bringing her parents a great deal of joy.

So, at one o’clock sharp on the following Saturday, Magnus Apparated (F/N) right to the door of Dumbledore’s study, bypassing the gargoyle sentinel entirely. (F/N) had found herself beginning to enjoy the fact that her father could take her absolutely anywhere in almost no time at all. Magnus smiled softly and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze before leaving her to it. When he was gone, (F/N) knocked twice upon the study door and waited for Dumbledore to call her in. As soon as he did, she entered, and her heart was lifted to see the beautiful, circular room with all its little magical gizmos and the portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses adorning the walls.

Dumbledore was sitting at his desk and had obviously recently finished writing a letter, because he was only just putting down his quill. He looked up at her and, while he had a pleasant smile for (F/N) and his blue eyes twinkled as they always did, it quickly became clear that something was weighing heavily on his mind. Nevertheless, he invited her to take a seat opposite him.

“Good afternoon, Miss Castor,” he said, his smile never faltering. “It is good to see you again,”

“And you, Professor,” she said, smiling back at him. Then she gave him slightly concerned look. “Are you all right, though, sir?” she asked. She had never known Dumbledore to look as tense as this, even when he was trying to hide it. She took the seat in front of his desk and waited for him to speak.

“Yes, my dear, thank you,” he said genially, thinking to himself that very little seemed to escape (F/N)'s notice. “It has been a busy week. There have been a lot of preparations to make, but nothing has been made easier by the Ministry,”

(F/N) glanced sadly down at the desk. “I suppose this is because of Sirius?” she said quietly. Every time she thought of him she was sharply reminded of how badly he had hurt her the last time they had spoken, but she was still upset that he had been thrown in Azkaban for crimes he did not commit.

“I am afraid that is correct, although only partly,” he said honestly. “Cornelius approached me by letter not long after my last to you, stating that the Ministry planned to increase the number of patrols involved in the hunt for Sirius. I know you do not wish to hear this, but everyone and every _thing_ – except you, it would seem – is rallied against him. Much to my displeasure, the Ministry will be posting Dementors at every entrance to the school grounds from September onward, and they will also patrol Hogsmeade, until he is caught,”

(F/N)’s stomach felt as though it were made of ice. “But, Professor … You’re the only one with the power to prevent the Dementors from being near Hogwarts … What about the students?”

“A warning will be issued at the start-of-term feast. The students will be under no illusions regarding the nature of the Dementors, terrible as they are. You must understand, (F/N) – this is not something I agreed to lightly, but the evidence is weighted heavily against Sirius. I cannot allow him to get close to Harry, or any other student, for that matter …”

“Professor, Sirius is Harry’s _godfather._ He wouldn’t hurt him …”

Dumbledore looked at her sadly. He admired her loyalty, truly, but his mind was made up. “Unfortunately, my dear, I have it on good authority that Sirius knows that Harry is at Hogwarts and is somewhat … fixated. Given the events of twelve years ago, now, and as much as I would like to believe what you are telling me, I simply cannot take the risk of allowing him to come too close …”

(F/N) nodded. She wasn’t going to try to persuade him _not_ to have the Dementors around, and she was sure that, after a moment or two, Dumbledore realised that. However, this was not something she was simply going to let go.

“Very well,” she said quietly. “I know our beliefs are very different, Professor, but I trust you implicitly either way,”

Dumbledore gave her a very kind smile, and the tension lifted from the atmosphere almost immediately. “Thank you, (F/N). I appreciate that. On the subject of Harry, however, there is another thing I need to tell you …”

(F/N) leaned forward in her chair, causing the wood to creak. She felt extremely nervous again.

“Harry ran away from his aunt and uncle’s house in Surrey a couple of days ago,” said Dumbledore gravely. Seeing the look of horror and fear on (F/N)’s face, he quickly held up a soothing hand. “Do not worry, my dear, he is absolutely fine. He managed to hail the Knight Bus, and he made it all the way to the Leaky Cauldron where Cornelius was waiting for him …”

“Wait, why was _he_ there?”

“Ah, well you see, whatever happened that night to make Harry leave home must also have involved a bit of magic gone awry …”

“He did magic outside of school?” (F/N) squeaked. Suddenly, it made sense why the Ministry would have gone looking for her godson. Then again, why on earth would _Fudge_ have gone to meet him _personally_ when he turned up in London?

“I am afraid so,” said Dumbledore, although he did not look displeased. “Harry was, most fortunately, not held responsible. By all accounts, however, the magic he performed accidentally inflated his aunt and the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad was dispatched to the residence to deal with the situation …”

“He inflated Petunia?” (F/N) whispered, uncertain of how she felt about that.

“Oh, no …” chuckled Dumbledore. “No, no. It was his uncle’s sister,”

“Oh … Good,” said (F/N), although she was sure this wasn’t the right thing to say, whether the victim had been Petunia or not. She could count the number of times she had met Lily’s brother-in-law, Vernon, on one hand, and if his sister happened to be anything like him then (F/N) could fully appreciate why Harry had blown her up – if only accidentally.

Dumbledore continued to smile. “Harry is now staying at the Leaky Cauldron and he will have the run of Diagon Alley for the next few weeks until term starts,” he said, watching (F/N) breathe an enormous sigh of relief. “This does, of course, mean that he has not been expelled,”

“Thank goodness for that …!”

“Indeed. Now! On to happier things, yes?” said the old headmaster. (F/N) smiled at him, appreciating the attempt to distract her from worrying about Harry. He was safe now, she kept telling herself. “We have much to discuss regarding your new position, my dear, so I thought that we could perhaps go over timetables and such before I take you to your new classroom …”

And so they did. Professor Dumbledore gave (F/N) a list of the different topics she would be teaching per subject, and each set of topics was neatly divided up according to which year group would be studying them. It was, however, left to (F/N) to decide when it would be most appropriate to teach her students a certain topic, which would most likely coincide with what their other teacher planned to teach at around the same time.

“The importance of meetings, you see,” said Dumbledore with a smile, as he watched (F/N) gleefully poring over her lists.

“Absolutely,” she replied, somewhat breathlessly. She was trying not to let her mind run wild with all the options for teaching these topics, because she had some truly fascinating ones on her list. She was eager to cover all of them!

“Professor?” she asked, when she finally managed to tear her eyes away from her new syllabus.

“Yes, my dear?”

“Who are the other new teachers?” she asked.

“Ah … Funny you should ask,” he replied mysteriously, but his eyes were once again alight with happiness. “Are you curious about any subject in particular?”

“Well, all of them, if I’m quite honest, but I was thinking specifically of Care of Magical Creatures …”

Dumbledore chuckled. “I suppose you would wonder about that one,” he said. “Professor Kettleburn would be extremely proud to learn that you are soon to be teaching his subject – he was (and still is, of course) extremely fond of you. However, it also stands to reason that the other new professor would ask for your partnership in the subject because he, too, thinks the world of you. Why not have a guess as to who it is?”

(F/N) grinned because Dumbledore’s smile gave the answer away completely. “Not _Hagrid,_ Professor?” she said excitedly. Who _else_ would it have been, after all?

“Yes, indeed,” he replied. “He is as excited as you are to begin his teaching career,”

(F/N) was over the moon. She could think of no one who deserved the position more than Hagrid. He had worked at the school for decades – indeed, nearly all his life – and she knew he had the right kind of heart for the job. Besides that, his understanding of magical creatures was second only to the creatures themselves. Even if his approach to them was sometimes a little _over-_ friendly.

Another question occurred to her, however …

“Are you _sure_ the other teachers are happy for me to share their subjects?” she asked nervously.

Dumbledore’s bright blue eyes glittered all the more, and his expression remained warm and affectionate, rather like a grandfather would regard a beloved grandchild. “You are concerned about Severus, yes?”

(F/N) tried not to blush and instead rolled up the parchment with her curricula written on it, refusing to meet his gaze.

“I will not lie to you. He did assume, at first, that hiring a second teacher was a direct challenge to his authority on the subject of Potions, and that his teaching ability was therefore being questioned. However, when I assured him that this was not the case, rather an opportunity to share some of the workload, he became much less defensive. He relaxed even further when I told him that the new teacher would be you,”

(F/N) doubted that, somewhat, but she was pleased to hear that Severus wasn’t _completely_ against the idea. Still, Dumbledore’s words did beg the question of whether Severus would be easy to work with if he had already thought, at one point, that he was somehow under review in a position he had held for the last twelve years.

She put the thought from her mind for the time being. She had to give him the benefit of the doubt, or she would never be a good colleague.

“Speaking of teachers …” said Dumbledore, craning his neck to look at a nearby clock. “I have an appointment with our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at three o’clock, to brief him also. I wouldn’t want to make him wait, nor would I want to rush _our_ appointment, so would you perhaps like to take a walk with me to your new classroom?”

(F/N) grinned again. “I would be delighted, Professor, thank you,”

Dumbledore walked (F/N) down to the fourth floor, directly from his office. (F/N) had not had much reason to roam the corridors while she was a nurse, but now that she was being given this opportunity she wasted no time in trying to take everything in at once and trying to recall the good times she spent walking these halls as a student. Her skin began to prickle, however, as they neared one room in particular. She knew this room well.

It was Moran’s old classroom.

Dumbledore opened the door and walked in ahead of her. (F/N) followed much more slowly, suddenly feeling very unsteady on her feet. The room was bright and airy – not dimly lit, like the last time she was here – but it still retained the aura of the man who used to teach there. Her breath caught in her throat, and tears pricked sharply in her eyes as she picked up a very faint scent … She had never realised before, but while Moran had never burned incense or anything like that during his Divination lessons, the room did, in fact, carry a hint of something that she could suddenly identify as _him._ The closest she had been to her old teacher, and later friend (barring the time he carried her to the hospital wing because she wasn’t even conscious at the time), was when he had stood beside her in a lesson or even during her N.E.W.T exam, _before_ she fainted … She cast her mind back, thinking hard, and remembered the light fragrance he wore.

“Are you all right, my dear?” asked Dumbledore gently.

“This is …”

“Professor Moran’s old classroom, yes,” he finished for her, noticing her distress. “Is it too much?”

“No, no … I’m honoured to stand now, as a teacher, where he once did the same …” she whispered. “I just …”

“It brings back memories, doesn’t it?” said Dumbledore. “I am sorry, Miss Castor; I had chosen this room for you as I thought it quite fitting. Professor Moran was another who thought extremely highly of you …”

(F/N) sniffed. _No,_ she thought crossly. She wouldn’t cry. Not now. “… Did you know that he died a couple of years ago?”

Dumbledore looked slightly guilty. “Yes, I knew …” he said very quietly. “Shortly after your return, your father wrote to me and invited me to visit your home to witness your being alive once more. He explained a little of what had transpired in order for you to be there and informed me of Fintan’s death at the hands of the ones who hunt you. Such a terrible, terrible tragedy …”

(F/N) was shaking slightly but she quickly mustered the strength to say, “He was a brave man; probably the bravest I’ve ever met …”

“He did a very noble thing, the night you returned from the dead,” said Dumbledore softly. (F/N) spotted what she thought was a spark of curiosity in his eyes, but she was quickly distracted from that notion when he continued, “I thought that by giving you his old classroom you would be able to honour his memory and his sacrifice. Besides, I think this room is better suited to you, and would mean more to you than anyone else because of your … _ancestral commonalities_ with Fintan, hm?”

(F/N) looked all around her and the idea of following in Moran’s footsteps became more and more attractive by the second. She could overcome the powerful emotions this place made her feel and focus instead on being the best teacher she could possibly be. Just like Moran.

“Thank you, sir,” she said gently. “I really appreciate the thought you’ve given to this … I would be honoured, as I said, to teach my students here as he once did,”

Dumbledore smiled, admiring for the umpteenth time the resilience of this young woman. Although he knew that she was struggling with her grief, even now, he found himself humbled by her readiness to push on and do what needed to be done.

“You are most welcome, Miss Castor,” he said kindly. “Please do take some time to get your bearings again, and have a look at your new quarters – just through that door, at the top of the stairs at the back, there. You should find everything you need is already here, except for your luggage, of course,” he added with a chuckle.

“I will, Professor. Thank you again …”

“It is no trouble, my dear. Feel free to decorate as you wish – every professor’s classroom ought to display a little of their personality, don’t you think?” he said with a wink, heading for the door. “Oh, I almost forgot … May I ask a favour of you before you go?”

“Of course, Professor, anything …”

“Could you possibly stop by your old Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom in an hour or so? I appreciate that this is quite a long time to expect you to linger, and I do apologise, however I would very much like for you to meet the new professor. He will be here shortly for his briefing, as I said, but he will not be able to return to the school until the day the students arrive - for personal reasons. It may not be considered proper for your first meeting to be at the feast, and therefore rushed …”

“No trouble at all, Professor,” said (F/N) with a smile. “I’ll be along in a while,”

“Thank you, my dear,” he replied, smiling again like a benevolent old grandfather. “I will not be there, this time, but I am sure you can handle the meeting yourself. I will warn you, though, that you know this person already. I say this now because I do not want you to get a shock like the one you received when you reunited with Severus …”

(F/N)’s stomach dropped, and she was sure that her mouth did, too. “Who is it, Professor?!” she asked eagerly. Dumbledore chuckled and merely tapped his extremely crooked nose. (F/N) smiled in spite of her nerves, realising she should have expected a response like that.

 _Besides,_ she reasoned with herself, _if he gave their name now he would never get to finish his appointment._

Dumbledore waved goodbye and left, closing the door behind him. (F/N) was left to her thoughts as well as the notion that Moran was still somehow with her even though he was ‘gone’. The room was terribly quiet now that she was alone, so she sought another distraction. She settled for decorating the room as Dumbledore had suggested, removing her wand from her pocket and beginning to cast a few spells. In the end, and after much experimentation, she decided on altering the room with atmospheric charms, just as she had at her old house in Cornwall. Today, the walls were lined with ‘trees’, the floor was grassy and the ceiling a lush canopy of leaves. It looked different to how Moran had decorated it, of course, but to her the room was a harmonious blend of her magic and his.

It was perfect, and her dream of becoming a teacher was about to come true.


	14. Chapter 14

An hour later, (F/N) went along to Professor Costigan’s old classroom (and, indeed, the classroom of all of the other DADA teachers before her) ready to meet (or reunite with) the new teacher. She was concerned that her new colleague wouldn’t last longer than a year, much like every single one of his predecessors for the last few decades, but she told herself to just enjoy his company for however long she had it.

That was if it was someone she liked, she realised.

She took her time, strolling along each corridor and gazing out of the windows as she went, making sure she didn’t arrive too early. If Dumbledore had not yet concluded their meeting, she didn’t want to barge in or become any sort of distraction, especially not if there was potential for them to be in the middle of discussing the new professor’s ‘circumstances’.

She eventually reached the room and paused, listening carefully for anyone talking inside. There were no voices, but she could hear drawers being opened and closed and someone moving around. She steeled her nerve and gently knocked twice. Footsteps approached the door in place of a voice calling for her to enter, and her tummy did a funny little flip as the doorknob turned. The door swung open and there stood …

“… Moony?”

There stood her old friend, the man she had trusted with her life, staring at her as though he were not, in fact, a thinking and feeling human being. Absolutely nothing but deepest shock registered on his face, and (F/N) didn’t know what to say or do. She was surprised (and utterly elated) to see him again, but she didn’t want to rush him because he was obviously struggling to function …

“(F/N) …” he whispered at last. He gave a funny little twitch, almost as if an unseen force had pushed him slightly, and then he promptly staggered backwards. (F/N) rushed forward and grabbed him by both arms, desperate to keep him upright. She then persuaded him to sit on a nearby desk so that he wouldn’t fall over, since he was still listing precariously backwards, but he seemed to regain control of his faculties only a moment later.

He stood up and threw himself at her, pulling her into a crushing hug and burying his face into her shoulder. She couldn’t hear what he was saying. The hug, however, was all it took for (F/N) to throw her arms around him in return and begin bawling into his jacket. She couldn’t think straight, and neither could he. Remus cried unreservedly and shook like a leaf; he had missed her so much, and it had never occurred to him, of course, that there would be any possibility of seeing her again.

“Oh, (F/N) …” he sobbed, holding her even closer. “(F/N), how is this real? How are you alive? I can’t _believe_ you’re alive …”

He started crying all over again. Hearing him cry so desperately was enough to coax more tears out of (F/N), too, and she decided that they both needed to sit down. She reached for the chair behind the desk Remus had been sitting on (for all of two seconds), but he straightened up and shook his head.

“No, no …” he said gently, breathing heavily in his state of shock. “There’s a sofa back there … It’ll be comfier …”

She smiled and gazed up at him through her bright, bleary eyes before following him to the next room. It was a simple chamber, not unlike her own, and he obviously had not yet ‘moved in’ because there were a few more weeks to go before the new school year began. They sat together on the little sofa he mentioned, holding hands and with their knees touching. Their eyes were still full of tears and their faces were flushed from crying so hard.

Neither of them knew what to say. They were utterly lost for words. Remus found himself simply gazing at (F/N)’s face, beauty he had never forgotten and a face he had seen almost every night, for the last twelve years, as he slept. He couldn’t believe he had gone so long without speaking to her, without hearing her laughter or simply feeling her presence. Although they had not always been friends, Remus could hardly remember what that felt like anymore because the time they _had_ spent together almost completely overwrote that. His mind was flooded with memories of her, how sweet she was and how kind, and understanding … She had always been there for him – and, indeed, their other friends – no matter the cost to herself.

That fact was amplified by the very last thing she ever said to him: _“Thank you, Remus. For everything you are, and everything you do. You are the truest friend and the purest soul, no matter what you or anyone else may think of you. Don’t ever change.”_ He remembered every word as if they had just been spoken. Although he hadn’t known at the time that he would never see her again – he had feared but hadn’t known for certain – her parting words had been to _thank_ _him_. She was hurting, because Sirius had just left her, and he now knew that she had also known that she was going to her death. Yet she had been kind to him … she had hugged him and made him feel worthy with a few simple, heartfelt words. And then she was gone from his world, as though a candle had been snuffed out.

(F/N), meanwhile, was thinking similar things about Remus. He looked tired and his hair was beginning to show flecks of grey, but he was still handsome, and it suddenly struck her that her old friend must have been to hell and back this last decade. She remembered the last time she had spoken to him as clearly as if it were yesterday, and her emotions all came flooding back. She burst into tears again and, concerned for her, Remus pulled her back into a much softer embrace.

“Remus, I’m sorry …” she wept, clutching him like a rock that prevented her from being swept out to sea. “I’m so sorry …”

He pulled back a little and gently cupped her face in his hands. “What on _earth_ are you apologising for?” he whispered, fighting back more tears of his own. He had never forgotten, of course, but he was suddenly reminded of just how much he had always loved her.

“Because I asked you to be my Secret Keeper, and … and … Oh, _Remus,_ the look in your eyes before I went … I thought it would kill me …!” she sobbed, remembering how distraught he had looked. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth … and I’m sorry I put you in that position … They didn’t come after you, did they?”

“(F/N), I told you before, I never cared what happened to me …” he said earnestly. “They didn’t come after me, no … In all honesty, though, if they had then I wouldn’t have been able to speak. I … couldn’t believe …”

(F/N) hugged him again, squeezing him harder than before. It felt wonderful to be with him again, someone who had been as close to James and Lily as she had. They were the only two people left who knew how the other felt …

“I’m sorry …” she whispered again, resting her chin on his shoulder as he rocked them both from side to side.

“Don’t apologise,” he murmured. “I’m honoured that you trusted me with your secret, and I would do it again if you asked, no matter how much it hurt. You’ve nothing to be sorry for, (F/N),”

“… You’re too good, Moony,” said (F/N) quietly, falling into a steady, rhythmic sway with him. She felt so safe in that moment that she could have gone to sleep. “… I’ve missed you so much, old friend …”

She heard him give a short little huff just over her shoulder, as if he had laughed and choked out a sob at the same time. “Not to score points or anything, but I assure you that you cannot possibly have missed me as much as I’ve missed you, (F/N) …”

(F/N) didn’t say anything in response to that, but she didn’t need to. Remus could tell that she was smiling over his shoulder. They stayed like that for quite some time, simply holding each other like they were the only two people left on the planet, clinging to each other for warmth and support and as though their lives depended on it. Remus could not comprehend the magic that must have been used to bring (F/N) back, but in that moment he couldn’t bring himself to care. All that mattered to him was that she was there, very solid and real, and giving him the sort of cuddle he had desperately longed for every day for many years.

Eventually, the tears stopped flowing and the sniffles subsided, and the friends slowly let each other go. They gave each other a happy, exhausted sort of smile and laughed quietly in unison, lightly holding hands once more. It felt as though a piece of their souls had been restored.

“So …” said (F/N), breaking the silence. In truth, she had been yearning to speak to him again ever since she came back, and now she didn’t have to worry about whether writing him a letter would go down well or not. “How have you been keeping?” She didn’t know if it was a silly question or not, but the look on Remus’ face suggested that he was grateful for having been asked.

“Well, you know how it is …” he said quietly, with a self-deprecating little smile. “There aren’t very many prospects out there for werewolves. I’m extremely lucky to have been sought out by Professor Dumbledore and asked to teach …”

(F/N) made a small noise of sympathy and gently rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb. She had meant it as an amicable gesture, and Remus knew this, but he couldn’t help revelling in the intimacy of the motion, however fleeting.

“Where have you been living, Moony?” she asked softly, never once taking her soulful eyes off his gentle green ones. “I know how determined you’ve always been when it comes to managing your condition, but I’m asking because I want to know if there is anything I can do to help …”

He smiled gently at her, loving her more than ever. As much as he wanted to tell her this, he kept his mouth firmly shut on the matter. Instead, he forced himself to answer her question. “Just in a little cottage in Yorkshire,” he said quietly. “Nothing fancy, but it’s a roof over my head. There’s no need to worry about me,”

She gave him a soft but slightly scolding look, one that seemed to search his soul. “If you say so,” she said at length. “But I want you to know that if you need anything – anything at all – you can always come to me, all right?”

Remus simply gazed at her before nodding. “Thank you,” he said minimally, knowing that he would never dream of putting upon her, although he appreciated her words immensely.

(F/N) smiled, and the brightening of her expression was enough to draw Remus fully out of his shell. He had many questions, naturally, which (F/N) was more than happy to answer, and they talked happily for a couple of hours until they both realised what the time was.

“You should probably be heading back …” said Remus reluctantly, but unable to lose the smile he wore. “Your parents must be wondering where you’ve got to …”

(F/N) tutted playfully and swatted his arm. “Remus, I’m not a little girl …”

He chuckled, standing up with her and walking her back to the classroom. He felt surprisingly light on his feet. “You can write to me now, though, yes?” he pushed playfully. He knew that, with _her_ ‘condition’, writing to people had been a very delicate subject.

“Of course!” she said, turning around and hugging him again. “I’ve been talking about it for ages,”

“Good,” he said lightly, giving her a cheeky grin. “So long as you do,”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” she giggled. “So … I’ll see you on the first? Professor Dumbledore said you’ll be travelling on the day because of ‘personal reasons’ …”

A little colour rose to Remus’ cheeks, but he smiled all the same, if slightly sheepishly. “Yes, there’s a full moon on the first and Merlin knows I’ll be feeling rough, but that’s not the only reason why I’ll be arriving with the students,” he said. “Professor Dumbledore has asked if I might be able to travel on the Hogwarts Express to keep an eye out for Dementors, just in case they get any ideas and decide to search the train …”

(F/N)’s blood ran cold. She certainly _hoped_ those monstrous creatures didn’t show up on the train …

“I see,” she said at last. “I suppose that makes sense, but please don’t strain yourself, especially if you’ve got a transformation coming up …”

“I’ll be fine,” he replied, giving her a very soft look. She was always far more concerned about the welfare of others than herself. It was an admirable fault, but Remus could not help thinking that it could do her more harm than she realised.

(F/N) didn’t want to leave her friend so soon but she knew her father would probably be waiting for her somewhere in the castle. She gave Remus a little wave as she moved towards the door, but quickly turned around and hugged him again, a gesture he returned very willingly. “See you soon, yeah?” she said sweetly.

“Without a shadow of a doubt,”

There was a knock on the door just as they parted again. (F/N) went to answer it and was met with the sight of Magnus smirking at her as if they had been playing hide-and-seek.

“Found you,” he chuckled.

“Dad!” (F/N) squeaked, feeling guilty for probably having given him the runaround. “I’m so sorry …”

“It’s all right, love, you’re not a child. I just figured you would want a quick ‘lift’ home rather than having to walk all the way to Hogsmeade, so I asked Dumbledore where you would be,”

(F/N) grinned. “Saying hello to an old friend …” she said, turning to smile warmly at Remus who was still standing a short distance behind her, looking a little awkward.

Magnus also smiled at him, putting him at ease. “Remus Lupin, yes?”

“Er … y-yes …”

“Don’t worry, I won’t bite,” Magnus chuckled, moving past his daughter and approaching Remus. Although (F/N) thought this was a bad joke, given Remus’ condition (although she was sure that her father was unaware of it), she watched the exchange with interest, nevertheless; Remus did indeed look rather timid, clearly not knowing what to expect from Magnus, and this was not helped by the fact that Magnus was a couple of inches taller than him.

“I know what you did for my daughter during the war, and I just wanted to thank you for being such a good friend to her, and for protecting her,” said Magnus, offering a hand for Remus to shake. He took it and smiled, although it seemed to (F/N) that he did look a little confused, too.

“It didn’t bear thinking about,” he said. “I said to (F/N) earlier, I would do it again …”

“She’s lucky to have you,” said Magnus softly, but there was a glint in his eye that Remus most certainly did not miss. He didn’t know what it was, though. Magnus didn’t say anything else, but he did smile at him before turning to his daughter. “Ready to go, kiddo?”

(F/N) pulled a face as if to tell him that she couldn’t believe he’d called her that. “I am, but only if you never call me that again,”

Magnus laughed, a cheeky, mirthful, boyish sound that gave (F/N) the impression he was even more mischievous as a young man than people had said. “But you _are_ my kiddo,”

“I’m thirty-bloody-three,”

“Language,” Magnus teased, linking arms with her ready for Apparition.

Remus watched them bantering to-and-fro with a small smile on his face, wishing that (F/N) could have had a relationship like this with her father when she was growing up. It was clear to him that the two Castors were very similar and he had no doubt in his mind that they got along very well – most of the time. He wasn’t blind to the fact that people who were very alike could also sometimes fight like cat and dog.

“Right! We’ll be off then, but please write to (F/N) if you need anything, all right?” said Magnus, looking straight at Remus.

“Thank you …” he said warmly, trying not to laugh at Magnus’ turnaround. “Wait, are you going to Apparate …? How is that possible?”

Magnus gave (F/N) a questioning look. “You mean you _didn’t_ tell your friend all about your awesome old dad? Honestly, what do you kids _talk_ about?”

(F/N)’s eyes flickered to accompany the withering look she gave no one in particular. Remus laughed and (F/N) said, “I’ll tell you when I next see you, all right? It’s … a _really_ long story,”

“I look forward to it,” said Remus.

The Castors waved again and vanished with a _pop_. Remus smiled and shook his head. The phrase 'two peas in a pod’ came to mind, and he set about finishing the arrangement of his classroom so that he wouldn’t have to do it on the first day of term. While he worked, the smile never left his face as he thought how much better life would be now that (F/N) was back. He knew she had been back for some time already, based on what her father had said and what she had told him herself, but he really was looking forward to working with her and spending time with her again.

He wondered how she was coping, underneath her reasonably sunny exterior. He knew that she must have seen Harry already, and he also wondered how she was managing the heartache that must come with working in such close proximity to him. That then reminded Remus of Sirius and he suddenly saw red, if only for a moment.

He had hurt (F/N) so badly the last time the two men had seen her, and Remus still hadn’t forgiven him for that. The fact that he was now on the run from Azkaban after betraying the Potters made it so much worse. Remus promised himself right there and then that, as well as protecting Harry and the other students from Sirius like any responsible teacher would, he would keep (F/N) safe from him if he ever got wind of her return.

He would guard her, even if it meant doing something drastic.

Meanwhile, (F/N) and Magnus had reappeared in Spindlewood Common. It was a gloriously sunny day and Adhara was busy weeding the garden, her hair bound up in a bright, flowery bandana and her hands covered in dirt. She hadn’t heard them return and continued to throw weeds and clumps of mud with roots in them into the wheelbarrow sitting next to her. Even though she was, by all accounts, a very talented witch, pretending to be a Squib for many years (or a Muggle, depending on who was asking) taught her a lot of decidedly non-magical habits. This was one of them.

(F/N) tucked her hair behind her ears and went straight to the fridge, taking out a jug of chilled water she had put there the night before. She poured a glass for both of her parents, giving them to her father before pouring her own. Magnus took a sip of his but smirked at his daughter over the rim of the glass.

“What?” she asked.

“He likes you,”

“Who?”

“Remus,”

“Of course he does, he’s my friend,”

Magnus rolled his eyes. “Oh, (F/N). So very oblivious …” he said with a smile. He winked at her and went outside with Adhara’s drink. He loved his daughter dearly, but he just couldn’t understand her inability to perceive obvious affection when it was being directed at her. It was endearing yet slightly frustrating, because he thought that she might save herself a lot of aggravation and heartbreak if she only learned to _read people_ a bit better. Her colleague, Severus, for example … Based on what she had told Magnus and Adhara, they thought it seemed quite unlikely that Severus was actually trying to upset her, but she seemed intent on believing that he was.

(F/N) tried not to feel indignant about her father’s comment and forcibly shrugged it off instead. She went upstairs to get a book, which she brought down to read in the garden. She fully intended to lose herself in it for a few hours, so as to avoid any more comments that were ‘nudge-nudge, wink-wink’ in nature, and so she did just that.

***

A few weeks later, (F/N) was all packed and ready to return to Hogwarts to finally fulfil her much-anticipated role as a professor. It was the first of September, and she had asked her father if he could Apparate her straight to her classroom with her things so that she could get set up and settled in before the students arrived in the evening. He was more than happy to do so – delighted, in fact – but he did make the joke that he was also finally fulfilling _his_ role … by being the ‘taxi’ that he had once overheard some Muggle parents talking about in a café several years ago. (F/N) swatted him playfully.

Once her quarters were ready to be lived in and her classroom was ready for use, she gave her father a peck on the cheek and a hug before he (reluctantly) left her to it. She grinned and rolled her eyes after he had gone, appreciating his and her mother’s affection for her. She went and got changed, opting for a grey, mid-length skirt (which she thought was very ‘teacher-y’), a white blouse and a grey blazer to match. She had (with her mother’s input, because she couldn’t _not_ involve her) bought herself a new ‘work wardrobe’, because the majority of her clothing screamed ‘Auror’ much louder than ‘Professor’. She also had a black robe that she could wear if she wished, and a couple of outfits that she could wear while teaching CoMC specifically – because that subject certainly wasn’t one for nice, pretty clothes.

_No_ , she had thought, _dark colours and wellies for **that**._

With several hours to go before the feast, (F/N) decided to take a stroll through the castle to see if she could find any of her colleagues. She saw no one, at first, and so decided to visit Poppy and find out if she had had a nice summer. She wore heels and, although sensible and conservative, they did click on the hard stone floors of the castle and so Poppy was already looking to the door when (F/N) put her head around the corner.

“I was wondering when I’d be seeing you!” said Poppy, beaming as (F/N) came into the room and approaching her for a hug. “Don’t you look the part!”

“It’s not too much, is it …?” said (F/N) nervously, feeling quite self-conscious for the first time despite the compliment.

“Not at all, dear!” Poppy gushed, taking another look at her. “You look splendid. Are you looking forward to the year ahead?”

“I am, yes,” (F/N) replied, her face alight with joy once again. “I’m sorry to be leaving you, though …”

“Oh, don’t be silly!” said Poppy with a wave of dismissal. “There’s no need to be sorry about that! Teaching is what you were made for – in fact, I put in a good word with Albus for you. I saw what good work you did in here, and knew you were wasted doing just one thing. You are a good healer, but you have much more to offer this school,”

(F/N) felt quite choked up all of a sudden, and hugged the kindly matron again. “Thank you, Poppy … For everything,” she whispered urgently. “I really am blessed to be working here,”

“You soppy devil,” Poppy chuckled, patting (F/N)’s back in a motherly fashion. “I have no doubt whatsoever that this year will be just as interesting as the last, at any rate,”

_Ain’t that the truth,_ (F/N) thought. She was certain that most of what she would be hearing that year would be about Sirius and his ‘crimes’. “How was your summer, anyway?” she asked, changing the subject completely.

“Relaxing, for a change!” Poppy laughed. (F/N) got the impression that this was a rare occurrence. “And yours?”

“It was … all right, thank you,” said (F/N) honestly.

“Only ‘all right’?”

“Well, some Unspeakables turned up at my house and pretty well arrested my mother and I, whisked us off to the Ministry and let us be interrogated by a very hateful woman in a blue coat …” said (F/N), in a deliberately flippant tone, but still causing Poppy’s expression to turn from one of concern to abject horror. “… Then I found out that Professor Moran died a couple of years ago. Really, the only good things that have happened this summer have been my appointment as a professor and reuniting with Remus …”

“Ah, yes …” said Poppy, suddenly looking rather shrewd. “He’ll be our new DADA instructor, won’t he?”

“Yes, I’m really looking forward to working with him!” said (F/N) excitedly. “It’ll be like old times. Of course, I’m looking forward to working with everyone … Even old Professor Binns,” she added with a giggle.

No sooner had the words left her mouth than there came the sound of more footsteps entering the ward. (F/N) turned around and stood beside Poppy, rather than in front of her, and they both focused their attention on Severus, who had just joined them (although, admittedly, he was carrying a large bottle of Wiggenweld Potion again so it was obvious that this was not a social call).

“Good afternoon, Madam Pomfrey, and (F/N) …” he said, as smoothly as ever. “Or should I call you ‘Professor Castor’ from now on?”

His tone was not unkind, but the comment did feel slightly pointed. (F/N) smiled at him, nevertheless. “I don’t call you ‘Professor Snape’, do I?” she said quite sweetly. Severus felt his spine tingle as she looked at him, which was not helped by the fact that she looked extremely pretty.

“If that’s how you want it,” he said softly. He then turned quickly to Poppy so that he could avoid floundering under (F/N)’s searing (E/C) gaze. He held up the bottle of Wiggenweld and said, “Four pints, as requested. Where would you like me to put it?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, Professor Snape, I’ll take it,” said Poppy warmly, and Severus relinquished the potion as she reached for it. “Thank you, dear,”

“Not at all,” he replied. He was about to take his leave when he stopped suddenly and looked at (F/N) again. “Are you doing anything at the moment, (F/N)?”

(F/N) quirked an eyebrow at him and gave him a smile that immediately announced that she was going to play with him. “Well, right this second I’m standing … _breathing_ …”

“And being a smart-aleck, clearly,” said Severus, rolling his eyes. “Fine, if you’re going to be tricky, _could I borrow you for a few minutes?”_

“As long as you give me back,”

“Good grief, are you going to be like this all year?” Severus sighed, trying not to glare at the back of Poppy’s head as she failed to suppress a giggle.

“And next year … and the year after that …” (F/N) teased. She would keep this up as long as she could, because she was suddenly aware of how good it felt to pretend that nothing had come between them; it was difficult, but she was trying. Severus gave a brisk tut and started walking towards the doors again. (F/N) followed, laughing quietly as she went. “You practically _invited_ that …”

“That’s like leaving a window open and someone inviting themselves inside,” said Severus silkily. “Just because there is an opening, it doesn’t mean it should be taken advantage of,”

“The same could be said for a lot of things …” she snickered.

Severus blushed but hid it well. “Are you _trying_ to be annoying?”

“When have I ever _not_ annoyed you, somehow?”

Severus tried not to smile. Even when they were a couple he had admitted the way she was still able to rile him if she wanted to, memories he recalled with great fondness. “Well, I’m glad to see _that_ hasn’t changed,”

(F/N), although feeling playful, was still painfully insecure – especially when it came to Severus – and didn’t know whether to feel stung by that last comment. Before it could remind her fully of her belief that he hadn’t truly loved her, she quickly asked, “Where are we going?”

“My office. I just want to discuss our ‘job share’,”

They were almost there when Minerva suddenly rounded a corner up ahead and spotted them. She smiled brightly as she approached, then reached out to (F/N) and took her hand, squeezing it in delight.

“Ooh, isn’t this exciting?!” she said, speaking as though she had won the lottery. “Your first day as a professor …!”

(F/N) grinned at her. It was indeed very exciting but as the evening drew nearer, she was finding it more and more difficult to express how she was feeling in actual _words_. She was sure that if she tried to explain herself now, all that would come out would be excited little squeals.

“I was wondering, (F/N), when you would like to have our weekly meetings,” she said kindly. “I am available every evening, and I think it would be nice for us to use those appointments to catch up and see how everything is going. I do not think we need to discuss much else beyond that; I trust you to teach my subject as I would,”

(F/N) smiled at the deputy headmistress but also sneaked a glance behind her at Severus, who was busy unlocking his office door. He caught her eye and so did not miss the twitch of her eyebrow, suggesting that she thought _he_ didn’t trust her to teach Potions properly.

“I have a completely free schedule at the moment, as far as meetings go,” said (F/N) breezily. “I’m happy to work around you, Minerva,”

Once again, Severus marvelled at the ease with which (F/N) called _their deputy headmistress_ by her first name. He started to wonder if the reason he didn’t was because he wasn’t quite daring enough; he had no doubt that the other teachers would let him call them by their first names too, but he had never quite felt right in doing so …

“Excellent! May I lay claim to an hour or so of your Wednesday evenings, in that case?”

“By all means!” (F/N) chuckled. “I look forward to it,”

“Likewise,” said Minerva. “Well, now that we’re square, I shall leave you to your preparations. See you at the feast?”

“Of course!”

“Very well, then. Good day to you both!”

Severus opened the door for (F/N) and allowed her inside ahead of him after she said goodbye to Minerva. He couldn’t lie to himself; he was slightly jealous of their friendship. He got on very well with the Head of Gryffindor himself, but the nature of their relationship was almost like that of an aunt and nephew. Ever since he had come to work at Hogwarts, Minerva had taken on the role of looking out for him, which he appreciated, but he was always reminded of how much younger he was than most of the other teachers, and this sometimes made him feel quite lonely.

“Please, have a seat,” he said, offering (F/N) the chair in front of his desk.

“Thank you …” she said quietly, glancing around at the macabre ‘décor’ of the office. There was a fireplace on one side of the room, blackened and empty, and there were a great many jars and containers on various shelves, containing all manner of gruesome-looking things. “Was your office like this when you took ownership of it, or must I strongly recommend that you _don’t_ become an interior designer?”

Severus couldn’t help it. He smirked. He also came to regret it two seconds later when (F/N) made it clear that she had noticed the upward tug of his lips. For that was all it had been – it had barely been more than a quirk – but she still saw it.

“Ah, it’s good to see some things about you haven’t changed, either,” she said.

“I never said they had,” said Severus shortly, although he didn’t mean it to sound quite so abrupt. He was simply a little embarrassed, and he regretted that too. “One doesn’t simply stop having a sense of humour …” he added hastily.

“Hallelujah,” was her sarcastic reply.

Severus felt bad; his reaction had come from a place of uncertainty and insecurity, because he had just realised that he was confused about (F/N)’s change of heart, playing and teasing and … treating him like she used to. Despite his recognition of her friendliness, years spent by himself, and the last year alone spent crossing words with her on the subject of her godson, all had combined to create a very aloof, socially inept monster that lurked at the back of his mind and prevented him from interacting with her as he wanted to. He hated it, and now he had lost a golden opportunity, much to his despair …

(F/N)’s tone of voice and overall demeanour had changed slightly; she was no longer as playful as she had been before, and he suspected he had accidentally pushed her away again. He wanted to apologise but was sure she would find that strange, and that would make the situation even more awkward. He hurriedly cleared his throat.

“I wanted to start by saying that I’m pleased that you finally got to become a professor,” he said earnestly, beating the monster in his head away with a big, metaphorical stick. “I know you’ve wanted this for a long time …”

(F/N)’s lips curled upwards in a happy little smile that she couldn’t control. It was one of the most beautiful things Severus had seen in a long time – besides the owner of the smile. If he could have slapped himself, though, he would have done because that whimsical thought had thrown him completely off-track.

“Anyway …” said Severus, feeling slightly clumsy (the last time he remembered feeling this way was when he had asked (F/N) out). “When would you like _our_ meetings to be?”

(F/N) gave him a very tiny shrug of her shoulders. “As I said to Minerva, I’m open to suggestions on that front. Of course, she’s got my Wednesdays now, but you can take your pick of any other day …”

“Well, I won’t steal your Sundays …” he murmured, opening a small journal on his desk which (F/N) supposed was his day-to-day diary. He wasn’t looking at her, but she allowed herself another small smile; unsure of him though she was, she still appreciated his dry little jokes. She wasn’t sure why, but it was his wit and intelligence that always made her realise that she found him physically attractive, too. She scrubbed her mind clean of that thought, just in case he decided to read it.

“Would Friday evenings suit you?” he asked.

“If they suit you then they suit me,” said (F/N), in a very easy manner.

Severus suppressed another smile, jotting down a note in the diary. Friday evenings it would be. (F/N) could be so laid-back when she felt like it, and it was impossible not to feel at ease when she did. He privately bemoaned the fact that he now had to raise another, less happy subject with her …

“Good. Now that we’ve sorted that, there is one other thing …”

“Severus, if you’re going to tell me not to go messing around with potion recipes, or teach the students how to brew a Hiccoughing Potion that tastes like after-dinner mints then you needn’t bother …”

“That was … oddly specific,” said Severus, eyeing her as though suspicious that she really had produced such a concoction already. “Irrespective, that wasn’t actually what I was going to say – I know you liked to fiddle around with your own potions, once upon a time, but I know – or at least I _hope_ – you wouldn’t show the students any of your funny little ‘discoveries’ … No, what I was _going_ to say was, there are a few students who consistently fall short of expectations and I just wanted to make sure that you and I are on the same page when it comes to our approach …”

(F/N) raised an eyebrow at him again, an action he was now getting used to seeing. “… If I had three guesses as to who they are, I’d guess right every time, wouldn’t I?”

Severus rolled his eyes. _“Here we go,”_ said his inner voice.

“Not necessarily,” he said aloud, and quite slowly. “Never mind names, because they aren’t important right now; I am sure you’ll know who I mean soon enough. I just want to be sure that the same high standards that I set are applied in _all_ of their lessons –,”

Both of (F/N)’s eyebrows slid up her forehead this time, and, seeing the look in her eyes, Severus realised too late that he should have known that a comment like his last would have been like a rag to a bull.

_It was going so well too,_ he thought. Even he admitted that it served him right for being so territorial over his subject.

“I think you’ll find, Severus, that my ‘standards’ are just as high as yours. Unlike you, however, I do not intend to _impose_ them. I prefer to _teach_ them. A child – of any age – generally performs to expectations; if confidence in them is low, while standards are high, how can you expect them to rise to the challenge?”

Severus didn’t know what to say to that, but he was still convinced that (F/N) would soon see what he was talking about. Some of his current students were truly abysmal potioneers and that was hard fact. Nevertheless, hearing her talk about students so … _compassionately_ caused something to stir deep inside him. He thought it was just his stomach doing a somersault, but then he realised that he had felt it on an emotional level. He shut the thought out.

“Was that all you wanted to ‘warn’ me about?” she said, breaking the icy silence.

“Yes, that’s everything,” he replied coolly. He had received no promises from her that she would stick to his methods, but then again, she was now in charge of her own little portion of the subject and she was a very different person to him. There was no chance in _hell_ that any students of theirs would have the same experience with her as they did with him. That still didn’t sit particularly well with Severus, though – would she be too soft on them? Would that softness undo all of his work in getting certain students to where they were today? He had been teaching for twelve years, and many, many students had left Hogwarts with very good or even top grades in his class, so he had to be doing _something_ right, surely?

_Give her a chance,_ he told himself, watching her stand up. He had to try not to admire her in the pretty grey and white outfit she was wearing. She certainly looked the part, he had to admit. He restrained a sigh; (F/N) was the cleverest witch he had ever known, and he knew he needed to be a bit more accepting of the fact that, while she would be a good teacher (of this he was certain), she would also be worlds apart from him.

He would simply wait and see how it all turned out.


	15. Chapter 15

(F/N) had spent the rest of the afternoon chatting with Hagrid and drinking tea in his hut, telling him about her bizarre summer (he was horrified by her ‘arrest’ and incensed by Rowe’s comments, although (F/N) hadn’t told him _everything_ about the nature of her existence). However, (F/N) quickly turned the conversation around so that they could talk about their new jobs, and Hagrid’s demeanour changed completely.

“D’yeh think I’ve got what it takes, (F/N)?” he asked nervously, although (F/N) could tell he was excited.

“Of course I do, Hagrid!” she said encouragingly. “I don’t know anyone who understands magical creatures like you do –,”

“Except fer you, o’ course!”

(F/N) blushed and shook her head. “No, no, you’ve got much more experience than me, and you’ve always had a way with creatures,” she said kindly. “You’ll make an excellent teacher. You’ve the heart for it, certainly,”

It was Hagrid’s turn to blush, behind his thick, shaggy beard. “Yer too kind, (F/N) …” he said, placing his mug on the table. Fang, Hagrid’s boarhound, padded over and plonked himself down heavily on (F/N)’s feet, placing himself as close to her as he possibly could without being on her lap, which would have been quite difficult at his size. “Yeh know …” Hagrid went on, grinning at his dog. “… I think we’ll make a grand team, you an’ I, an’ I think yeh’ll make a fine addition to yer other subjects too. I’m sure Professor Lupin will be pleased to have yeh workin’ with him, an’ maybe yeh’ll even be able to get Professor Snape to loosen up a bit …”

He winked at her, but she knew he wasn’t suggesting … _that._ He was making a joke about how _very_ serious Severus always was.

“I’m a teacher, Hagrid, not a miracle worker,” she giggled back, placing her teacup on the table, too. “But I’ll see what I can do,”

“I'm _positive_ Snape wouldn’t be able to resist a smile if yeh tried to make him,” said Hagrid fondly. “I know yeh’ve been through the mill where he’s concerned, but … I mean … ah, this migh’ be a bit _over_ familiar …”

(F/N) didn’t say anything but watched Hagrid with interest as he searched for the right words.

“He cares about yeh, (F/N). He migh’ not be the best at showin’ it, but I see the way he looks at yeh. Like he misses yeh. I think yer both just in a state o’ windin’ each other up at the minute, though,”

(F/N) thought back to her impromptu meeting with Severus earlier that day and wondered if what Hagrid said was true. If it was, to say that Severus wasn’t the best at showing the fact that he cared was a severe understatement. (F/N) had lain awake some nights wondering if the reason Severus appeared to be so standoffish nowadays was because she was _expecting_ that, because she – rightly or wrongly – believed what Voldemort had told her. Why would he have lied? He had nothing to gain but a bit of amusement in torturing her.

She couldn’t bear to think about it anymore. Her feelings were confused, at best, and she didn’t know what to make of the situation anymore. She supposed, now that she would be working so closely with him (indeed, much more closely than last year), she simply needed to give him a chance. She would just wait and see how events unfolded by themselves.

Hagrid and (F/N) finished their tea and made their way up to the castle together, their conversations returning with great enthusiasm to the approaching feast. Neither was in any doubt that the students would probably be surprised to learn that two members of staff – the gamekeeper _and_ one of the nurses – had been ‘promoted’ to the rank of Professor, but they were both extremely eager to get started the next day.

As soon as it got dark, all of the teachers made their way to the Great Hall ready for the start of term feast. As usual, thousands of candles glittered overhead but it had started to rain outside, and the enchanted ceiling reflected the downpour. (F/N) could hear the rain pattering against the windows, blown by the sudden wind; although the Hall was not actually cold, the atmosphere created by the weather made her feel chilly and she fastened the button on her blazer.

When she reached the teachers’ table, she found herself sitting next to Severus and with a vacant seat on her left-hand side. She hadn’t noticed this until moments before the first students began filing into the Hall, finding their own seats at their House tables.

“Good evening …” said a soft, familiar voice.

(F/N), who had just finished making small-talk with Severus about the Dementors (who were meant to be posted around the school, but whom she thankfully had not yet seen), turned at once and was met with a warm yet slightly tired smile from Remus, who had just entered via one of the side doors.

“Remus!” she greeted him, beaming back. “How was the trip?”

Severus couldn’t help it. He wished he could ignore what was going on nearby, but he was simply furious. Not only had someone he had hated during his school years taken the position of DADA professor, which he had wanted for many years himself, but this man had also already reunited with (F/N) and they were speaking again as if nothing had ever happened.

He didn’t _want_ to feel jealous, but that was certainly the most accurate description of the way he _did_ feel in that moment. Angry, too. _Seething_ , even.

“It was … eventful,” said Remus, still smiling. “Ah … Is this seat taken?”

“No! Please, feel free,” said (F/N), even going so far as to pull it out for him. Severus sneaked another glance at Remus, one full of contempt, and noticed the slight, pink blush that he wore, made all the more noticeable by his comparative pallor. Severus was not pleased.

“Thank you, (F/N),” said Remus, sitting down beside her. “Ah, good evening, Severus,” he added, as though he had only just seen him. “I didn’t recognise you before …”

Severus wanted to say something along the lines of that not being in the least bit likely, and tell him that he didn’t need to lie in order to appear friendly, but he knew that such a terse reply would not go over well with (F/N). He turned his dark gaze on Remus and said, “Lupin. Keeping well?”

(F/N) was surprised. It was innocuous enough as a question, and she had little reason to suppose that Severus had realised that tonight was the full moon. She couldn’t help wondering if he had an ulterior motive for greeting Remus in a _seemingly_ gracious manner – even if his tone made it clear that he was not pleased to see him – but decided to take the interaction between the two men at face value. She would do herself no favours if she went about questioning every single thing Severus said and did, especially if he really was only being polite.

“Yes, thank you for asking,” said Remus genially, his answer belying his tired, pale face. His smile never faltered, though, and (F/N) wondered if he was making a conscious effort to be nice after all the grief the Marauders used to give Severus – and her and Lily, she supposed … but mostly Severus.

“Why was the journey eventful?” she asked, wearing an expression of concern.

“Dementors stopped the Express and started a search with all of the students still on board …” said Remus grimly. “… One of them came into the compartment I was in and …”

“Oh Remus, I’m sorry to hear that …” (F/N) said sympathetically. “I’ve heard they really suck the life out of a place …”

“Well, it wasn’t just that …” said Remus, glancing over at the Slytherin table where Draco Malfoy and a group of his fellow third-years were guffawing loudly about something. From where they were sitting, Remus and (F/N) could see Draco acting out a ridiculous swooning fit.

“What on earth was that all about?” (F/N) asked, turning back to her friend.

“He’s talking about Harry, no doubt …” said Remus quietly.

(F/N)’s eyes glittered happily at the mention of her godson’s name. “You’ve met Harry?”

Remus smiled again, having realised he should have known it would make (F/N) happy to hear of her godson – even if he was about to give her bad news as well. “Yes. Well, sort of. I was asleep for most of the journey – you know, with … with the moon – but when the Dementor came I sent it away. Harry fainted, though,”

(F/N) felt sick. “What do you mean, he _fainted?”_

“A reaction to the Dementor’s presence, I suppose. They suck all the happiness out of you, and there are obviously things in Harry’s past that no child should ever have to experience …”

She wanted to cry. Her poor Harry … She hadn’t seen him yet, and Filius had just brought the Sorting Hat and the stool it sat on into the Hall. He placed everything where Minerva usually did, then went to fetch the new first-years. Everything went quiet, save a few rumbling murmurs here and there across the Hall, and while (F/N) very much wanted to find out from Remus what else had happened regarding Harry on the train, she kept her mouth shut and silently watched the Sorting while _trying_ not to worry about her godson. It was no easy feat, though …

When the Sorting was finished, (F/N) turned hastily back to Remus and said, “Do you know where he is now? Gone to Madam Pomfrey, I suppose …”

Remus smiled at her in an affectionate sort of way, realising just how much she cared about Harry, and gave a vague nod towards the far end of the Hall, indicating the doors. (F/N) looked up and saw what Remus was nodding at.

Harry had just walked into the Hall with Hermione slightly behind him, who was tucking something into her shirt. Minerva entered the Hall behind them and made her way to the staff table. Harry looked quite well, all things considered, and (F/N) turned back to Remus wearing a small, relieved smile.

“I’m glad you were there,” she said earnestly. “He doesn’t look too bad,”

Remus felt his chest squeeze and he tried not to break her gaze by glancing bashfully at the table - something he felt compelled to do. “Thank you,” he said. “I gave Harry and the others some chocolate before we arrived …”

“Oh, you’re already a _vast_ improvement on last year’s DADA professor …” (F/N) chuckled. Then, in an undertone (so that Severus wouldn’t hear, because she knew his opinions of James, Remus and Harry himself), she said, “James and Lily would be so pleased that you’re going to be his teacher …”

“What about you?” he chuckled. “You’re his godmother, _and_ his teacher. They would be thrilled …”

(F/N) blushed crimson, but she was saved from having to say anything by Dumbledore standing up and taking up a place in front of the school. Harry and Hermione had just seated themselves beside Ron, and (F/N) suddenly felt a lot more at ease.

“Welcome!” said Dumbledore, exuding great energy despite his age. “Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! Now, I would like to say a few words, before you all become too befuddled by our excellent feast …”

Dumbledore cleared his throat and began addressing the school on the subject of the Dementors, of whose presences (if the little nods some of the students were giving were anything to judge by) people were already aware. (F/N) felt her blood run cold again at the thought of the creatures roaming about as they pleased and hoped that Dumbledore would be able to keep them as far from the castle as possible.

“On a happier note,” he went on, a smile returning to his face. “I am pleased to welcome not one but _three_ new teachers to our ranks this year …”

(F/N) felt her stomach do something that was less of a somersault and more of a full acrobatic routine. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Severus glance at her and felt sure that he somehow knew how she would be feeling.

“Firstly, I would like to welcome Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher,”

Remus stood up and gave a humble little bow as the students applauded. (F/N) clapped quite hard (a stark contrast to Severus, who sneaked a quick, angry look at Remus and only clapped twice – probably to maintain appearances), and she noticed that Harry’s friends at the Gryffindor table were clapping especially hard. Remus sat down and (F/N) shot him an encouraging little grin. Dumbledore spoke again over the ovation and all grew silent.

“As to our second new appointment … well, I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to spend more time with his remaining limbs. However, I am delighted to inform you all that his place will be filled by none other than Rubeus Hagrid,”

The Hall exploded. Minerva nudged Hagrid to get him to stand but when (F/N) looked along the table at him she could see that his eyes were full of tears and his cheeks were quite pink. She was so pleased for him; to be a teacher was what he had always wanted. Again, it was the Gryffindors who applauded Hagrid most heartily, with Harry, Ron and Hermione wearing the widest smiles, and (F/N) herself clapped so hard that she made her palms tingle. A few people even cheered.

“And last, but _certainly_ not least,” Dumbledore went on, as the thunderous applause died down, “it is my honour to announce that our very own Madam Castor has most generously agreed to take on the job of teaching several subjects alongside your other professors, allowing more ‘elbow room’ with the weekly timetables. That being said, you will all see her at some point in the very near future. Good luck, _Professor!”_

(F/N) stood up as her friends had, feeling slightly shaky on her legs, as the Hall burst into applause for her as well. She suddenly felt very shy, and her face and ears were burning, but she gave the room a little bow just as Remus had and smiled. Her heart leapt to see Harry and his friends clapping enthusiastically once again, and grinning from ear to ear. (F/N) felt even more bashful to see all of her colleagues applauding too, although the ones sitting closest to her were the easiest to notice; Remus clapped just as much for her as she had for him and Severus, she was heartened to see, did the same although in his usual calm, quiet manner. He did not stop until everyone else had, and this small fact made her happier than she had expected.

(F/N) returned to her seat with a blush still painted across her cheeks and tried not to look at Harry. She was so looking forward to having more contact with him this year, teaching him and being able to keep a closer watch over him. She still could not bring herself to reveal who she was, though, because with everything going on in both the wizarding _and_ Muggle news regarding Sirius, she just _knew_ that questions about him would arise and she wouldn’t be able to answer them satisfactorily.

If Harry found out that the _entire_ wizarding world thought Sirius guilty of what he had been imprisoned for, and she vehemently argued the opposite, that would be extremely confusing for the boy and he would surely find himself questioning (F/N)’s loyalties.

She couldn’t allow that.

“Well, I think that’s everything of importance,” said Dumbledore, after the last of the applause had ceased. “Let the feast begin!”

Everyone became distracted by the food and drink, and the Hall erupted into excited chatter and laughter as the students were left to their own devices. Remus immediately turned to (F/N) and engaged her in conversation, which then lasted until the very end of the feast – much to Severus’ intense displeasure.

He made himself scarce as soon as dinner ended, and while (F/N) was curious about his hasty departure, she was distracted once again by Harry, Ron and Hermione approaching the teachers’ table. Although they had run straight up to Hagrid, Remus could not help noticing the joy that crossed (F/N)’s face as she gazed at the young trio, smiling as they talked to their new CoMC professor.

They were congratulating Hagrid on his new position when the man suddenly started tearing up, dabbing his eyes with the tablecloth. Minerva, seeing Hagrid’s emotional state, hurried over to usher the trio along, but as soon as they turned to leave they spotted (F/N) standing nearby, actually having been waiting to speak to Hagrid herself.

“Madam Castor …!” said Hermione excitedly as Harry not-so-subtly steered her in (F/N)’s direction. “Oh, sorry … _Professor_ Castor,” she corrected herself, beaming at her. Hermione had grown over the summer, just as the boys had, but she was still smaller than them. Harry and Ron were still also still slightly smaller than (F/N), for now, but she realised this wouldn’t last another year, or even a few months.

(F/N) smiled happily at the three students, trying very hard not to linger on Harry, although he, too, had fixed her with a delighted grin. His Lily-green eyes glittered gleefully in the candlelight and behind his round glasses.

“Hello, you three,” she said softly. “Well, we shall see if I prove myself worthy of the privilege of being your professor this year,”

“You’ll be great!” said Ron enthusiastically. “Last year, people were on about pretending to be ill so they could go and see you. You’re wicked with healing spells and stuff …”

Harry and Hermione were smirking at Ron as though they knew something he didn’t. (F/N) chuckled.

“You’re very kind to say so, Ron,” she said. “Thank you,”

Ron blushed to his ears and added nothing else to his rather effusive but endearing statement. Harry turned to her and smiled again.

“Can I still come and see you if I fall off my broom this year?”

(F/N)’s eyes widened in horror, even though she knew the boy was teasing. “You shouldn't tempt fate!” she half-whispered. “I sincerely hope you don’t fall off your broom _at all_ …”

Harry laughed. “I know, I’ll try not to,” he said.

“You can come and see me anytime you like, though,” (F/N) replied, replacing her smile once more. “Misadventure or no,”

She meant it for all three of them, but she was looking at Harry as she said it. They were just about to start talking about something else when Minerva appeared at their backs and hurried them along to Gryffindor Tower, telling them she thought it should have been obvious that they were to do this the first time she shooed them. Harry and his friends left without further delay, but Harry, walking slightly behind the other two, turned around briefly and gave (F/N) another little smile. Her heart positively danced.

She turned around to make sure she hadn’t left anything at the table before going to her chambers, and came face to face with Remus who was regarding her with very soft eyes. His smile, though, was what enticed her to ask what was on his mind.

“I can’t imagine how you must feel to be with him again,” he said. “Merlin, but he looks like James, doesn’t he?”

(F/N) smiled down at her shoes, trying not to cry at the thought. “He does. And his eyes are Lily’s,”

Remus didn’t know what to say. It pained him to think of their old friends, of the loving couple who had died for their son but who should have been allowed to live for him instead; Remus knew, however, that (F/N)’s wounds cut far deeper. If _he_ felt guilty for what happened, he was sure he could not imagine how she must have felt for having _been_ there …

“May I walk you back?”

(F/N) looked up again and chuckled. “Sure, Moony. Thank you,”

Although (F/N)’s quarters were not exactly ‘on the way’ to Remus’, he still – very chivalrously – walked her all the way there, just as he had offered. He politely declined (F/N)’s offer of a cup of tea before he returned to his own room, making her realise that they all really should get an early night in preparation for the day ahead, and also that he had … werewolf things to do.

It didn’t take (F/N) long to get ready for bed, simply because she was ready for it. She was so excited for her first proper day as a teacher that she just couldn’t fathom having any bad dreams at all that night, but she took her usual dose of Dreamless Sleep Potion regardless. She didn’t want to take any chances, after all.

She quickly fell into that deep, untroubled sleep that she had come to rely on, with her last thoughts of the evening being focused on Harry.

***

Even though her godson was always on her mind, (F/N) barely had time to breathe on the first proper day, let alone think about anything other than her lessons. She had great fun taking her first fourth-year Charms class (Hufflepuff and Slytherin) and seventh-year History of Magic class straight afterwards. At lunchtime, (F/N) met with Hagrid at his house and heard all about the lesson he had planned for his third-years, which happened to be his very first group. He had been preparing all day, and fortunately hadn’t had any lessons beforehand.

“Hippogriffs?!” (F/N) repeated excitedly when he told her. “Oh, _Hagrid …”_

“I knew yeh’d approve,” said Hagrid fondly. “Erm … listen …”

(F/N) was indeed listening – very attentively, in fact – but Hagrid was suddenly distracted by something going on behind his friend. They were standing outside, almost in Hagrid’s pumpkin patch, and he was looking up the winding path back to the school. (F/N) turned around and an enormous grin broke on her face.

“Remus!” she called, waving to her other friend.

He came right up to Hagrid and (F/N) and smiled back. “Hello,” he said cheerfully. “I’m not interrupting, am I?”

“No, not at all,” said (F/N) kindly. “How has your day been so far?”

“It’s gone well, thank you. And I’ve heard nothing but good things about _your_ lessons,” said Remus lightly.

“Tha’s our (F/N), though, eh?” laughed Hagrid merrily. “If anyone can make History of Magic interestin', it’ll be her!”

Remus grinned and nodded his agreement. He hadn’t seen (F/N) around the school, or in the staff room, so he had headed out to see if she was anywhere on the grounds. Really, though, he had mainly come outside for some fresh air. Dumbledore had _very_ kindly asked Snape to make Wolfsbane Potion for him, so that he could better control his transformations, but while it had helped enough the previous night insofar as allowing him to stay locked in his room without trouble, it had still been too late to spare the agony with which he was so well-acquainted.

As such, he found himself capable of teaching today but having to make sure he didn’t exhaust his energies. It had been a slow start, certainly.

“Oh, sorry, Hagrid … You were about to say something,” said (F/N), turning back to the much larger man.

“Oh, righ’!” said Hagrid, suddenly remembering. “Would yeh mind comin’ by a bit later on – after dinner, maybe? Got somethin’ ter show yeh!”

“Not another of your madcap adoptions?” (F/N) giggled.

“No, no …” chuckled Hagrid. “No, yeh’ll like this!”

“Well, then I look forward to finding out what it is,” said (F/N) with a smile. She checked her watch, and realised lunch was nearly over. Her eyes widened and she turned her head towards the castle, remembering then that it wasn’t exactly a short or quick walk back. It made her wish she shared her father’s ability to Apparate whenever and wherever he pleased. Suddenly overcome with urgency to get back to her classroom before the students finished their lunch break, she gave her friends a quick wave before starting back up the hill. “See you this evening!” she called back in a hurry.

Hagrid laughed. “She’s a whirlwind, that one,” he said, watching her go. “S’pose you should be heading off too, eh, Lupin? Even though yeh've only jus' got here!”

“I probably should, yes,” replied the other, smaller man, watching (F/N) leave as well. Theirs had been a very brief exchange, but it cheered him, nonetheless. “I’ve got a class of first-years next, so I really should make sure everything is ready …”

Hagrid chuckled again. He knew what first-years could be like, but he counted himself lucky that he didn’t have to teach them himself, given that his subject was for third-years and above. “Good luck with that,”

Remus smiled. “Thank you,” he said, starting back up the hill himself. Just then he stopped, turned back to Hagrid and said, “What is it that you’ve got in store for (F/N)?”

Hagrid grinned. “Can’t tell yeh that, Lupin, sorry,” he replied mysteriously. “Yeh can come along this evenin’ though, if yeh like …”

“I might just do that,” said Lupin lightly. “You’ve piqued my curiosity as well now, after all,”

With that, the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor went on his way, wondering what on earth the gigantic gamekeeper was hiding from (F/N), and him. Lupin smiled to himself as he reached his classroom, realising that Hagrid obviously felt he couldn’t be trusted not to tell (F/N) what was going on if he let him in on the big secret.

As if he would do such a thing. If it had the potential to put a smile on (F/N)’s face, he would never spoil a surprise for her.

That night at dinner, (F/N) was exceptionally anxious to find out what it was that Hagrid wanted her to see. She knew it would be a creature of some description – probably a rare one with a dangerous temperament if she knew Hagrid at all (and she did) – but the problem was, there was no sign of Hagrid at dinner at all. Hitherto she had not mentioned her meeting with the CoMC teacher to anyone (other than Remus, who already knew), but now that Hagrid was nowhere in sight, she turned to Minerva, sitting beside her, and asked if she knew where he was.

“Oh yes, bad business this afternoon …” said Minerva gravely. “Draco Malfoy was attacked by a hippogriff in Hagrid’s very first lesson …”

(F/N) baulked. _How could that have happened?!_ Her expression must have asked all the questions she meant to say aloud, because Minerva gave her a very sympathetic look and said, “He is with Poppy now, but Hagrid … well. We haven’t seen him at all since the incident. I do hope he’s all right …”

“I was supposed to meet with him this evening anyway, so I will go and check on him after dinner …”

As it happened, (F/N) didn't get the chance until _much_ later than anticipated. She was waylaid by Muggle Studies teacher Charity Burbage, who practically pounced on her as soon as dinner finished and herded her into the staff room, all with a view to asking her a vast array of questions concerning her ‘unique set of abilities’, even though they bore no relevance to her own area of expertise. (F/N) wouldn’t ordinarily have minded the questions, awkward though she always felt when answering, but she was deeply concerned about Hagrid and wanted to go and see him as soon as possible.

An entire hour later, Remus came to the staff room looking for her again and freed her from Charity’s curiosity.

“Terribly sorry, Professor Burbage, but could I please borrow Professor Castor for a while? There is a matter of some importance that requires her attention,” said Remus, causing Charity to blush a violent shade of red.

“I’m so sorry, I’ve kept you far too long!” she said. “Thank you for humouring me …”

“It’s no problem,” said (F/N) courteously, smiling and bowing her head to her colleague. “Perhaps another time, though. Please lead the way, Professor Lupin,”

And so he did. He led her out of the castle and across the grounds towards Hagrid’s hut. “You know, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to hearing you call me that,” he said with a soft chuckle.

“You won’t have to,” (F/N) replied, feeling a little more cheerful now. “I’ll only call you that in front of students or colleagues who are _maybe_ not so familiar to us,”

Remus smiled. He privately admitted that it also felt strange to call (F/N) ‘Professor Castor’. Still, he thought she suited the title of ‘Professor’ far better than he did. Only a day in, and she was already wearing it better than some of the teachers who had been there five or ten years.

There was a light on inside Hagrid’s house. (F/N) stopped dead on the sloping lawn and stared at the house before looking worriedly at Remus. “Did you hear about what happened this afternoon?”

“I did,” said Remus sombrely. “From what I can gather, though, only the Slytherins seem to think Hagrid was at fault, and even then it isn’t all of them,”

“That explains things, somewhat,” said (F/N) darkly. She felt so bad for her friend, and she didn’t know what to expect when she knocked on the door. She walked up to it and rapped twice upon the wood, then waited. It swung open far faster than she had expected, however, and leapt backwards as Hagrid loomed over the threshold.

“What’re yeh –?!” Hagrid boomed. Then, when he saw who it was, he stopped and looked slightly abashed. “Oh, sorry, (F/N). Lupin …”

“Hagrid, it’s OK … Who were you expecting?” said (F/N).

“Oh, no one, I just thought … Well. Yer godson and his friends were down ‘ere not too long ago; I thought they mighta come back …”

(F/N)’s heart did a little skip in her chest, making her feel as though her ribs had trembled.

“Don’ tell anyone he was 'ere, all righ’?” said Hagrid nervously, glancing between (F/N) and Remus. Both shook their heads as a sign they would hold their silence. Hagrid nodded and stepped outside, closing the door as soon as Fang came to heel. “Good. Sent ‘em all back soon as I realised what they were doin’ …”

“What do you mean?” asked (F/N), following Hagrid to the Forest while Remus walked wordlessly at her side.

“Well, with Sirius on the loose and all them Dementors hangin’ about, never can be too careful, eh?”

(F/N) didn’t say anything. Among other things, she hadn’t told Hagrid about her defence of Sirius at the Ministry, when she stood up to Fudge and the witches and wizards who were with him. She didn’t want to bring up Godric’s Hollow – Hagrid had been the one to pull Harry from the wreckage of the house, and he had seen with his own eyes what became of (F/N), Lily and James. He wouldn’t be so easy to convince of the truth, even if it was (F/N) telling him.

He believed Sirius betrayed the Potters, and he hated him for it.

To (F/N)’s despair, Remus made a noise in his throat that sounded very much like fierce agreement. He didn’t say anything, though, so (F/N) ignored it. She quickly changed the subject instead.

“I heard Harry rode a hippogriff today,” she said, recalling something she had overheard the Patil twins saying as they left the Hall after dinner.

Hagrid smiled, but it was only fleeting. “Did a fine job, too! Must take after his godmother, somehow,” he chuckled. “It all wen’ downhill after that … I’m sure yeh must’ve heard by now …”

“Minerva told me _something_ happened …” she said quietly.

“S’all my fault …” said Hagrid mournfully. “S’pect I’ll be sacked … Ain’t no way Lucius Malfoy’ll let this one go …”

“Lucius Malfoy is as useful to the Ministry as tits on a bull!” (F/N) shouted, anger erupting within her at the thought of Hagrid losing his job because of the snake that was Lucius Malfoy. Remus snorted with unbidden laughter which he quickly stifled, and even Hagrid cracked a smile. “Honestly, he can chuck about a few Galleons, stamp his feet a bit and he’ll turn a few heads, but so would a clown if one suddenly showed up in the Atrium. There’s no difference between the two, in most people’s opinions. He will _not_ have you fired. What did his son even _do?”_

Hagrid told her the story. By the end, they were much deeper in the woods and (F/N) was shaking her head slowly and incredulously from side to side.

“Anyone who isn’t _blind_ can see that a hippogriff isn’t to be trifled with,” she said in a very low voice. “What on earth possessed him to think he shouldn’t listen to you?”

“He don’t like me. Never has,” said Hagrid grimly. “Never mind that, though, we’re almost there …”

“Almost where?” asked Remus and (F/N) at once.

They didn’t have long to find out. It had been so many years since she had last been here that (F/N) didn’t even recognise the trail that Hagrid was leading them along. They came out in a large, airy clearing, one that (F/N) recognised immediately and that Remus also remembered after looking around a bit. (F/N) walked straight into the glade, and Remus was about to follow, but Hagrid placed a firm but (reasonably) gentle hand on his shoulder to keep him where he was, leaving (F/N) to enter the clearing on her own.

She was blown away by what she saw, so much so the world seemed to drain of sound and she completely forgot that she had come with friends.

There, pushing his beak through the grass in search of worms, was Aeolus.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> I am so, so sorry it's taken me so long to post something new. The last couple months have been so busy, I didn't even know if I was coming or going most of the time.
> 
> Still, I wanted to thank you all for your patience and for sticking with me. I hope you all enjoy the new chapters!
> 
> Love you all <3
> 
> \- SooperChicken

(F/N) was at a total loss for words. Wistful thoughts of her beloved hippogriff frequently drifted across her mind during her waking hours and she had been wondering how he was, and what he was doing … She had no way of finding him, though, until now. It hadn’t been as though she could write him a letter and ask him to come and see her. But now, here he was, standing tall and proud in the very clearing in which she had raised him, and he was looking straight at her with his luminous orange eyes.

He held his head high, and his tail swished from side to side. (F/N) knew that this was curiosity. He couldn’t believe his eyes, either. She could read the expression on his eagle-like face as easily as she could read a human’s. She moved forward in the grass, now knee-high, but her feet stopped her dead and she couldn’t go any further. She simply forgot how to function, let alone bow to the creature she had not seen in twelve, very long years.

Aeolus didn’t make a sound, but he moved towards her from where he had been standing, looking ever-so-slightly perplexed. At no point during his approach did (F/N) feel nervous, for even though many years had passed, she still sensed that she knew Aeolus as completely as before. She trusted him and, if the way he had lowered his head to her (although not quite bowing) was anything to judge by, he trusted her too.

When he was within reaching distance, (F/N) offered her open palm to him, in case he wanted to sniff to make sure she was real – or, at least, the same person as before. She didn’t know what sort of understanding hippogriffs (or any animals, for that matter) had of resurrection, but she could very well imagine that this was a confusing experience for Aeolus. He raised his head once more, and looked her in the eyes. Tears welled in hers, but she held her breath and fought the urge to cry. To feel his jet-black feathers under her fingertips and to hug and play with him as she used to was suddenly all she wanted.

Instead of a sniff, (F/N) got much, much more. Aeolus closed the gap between them and, in a single movement, spread one of his wings wide and enveloped her with it, before bowing his head low over her shoulder. It was as close to a hug as anyone could ever get from a hippogriff, and the tears suddenly flowed freely from (F/N)’s stinging eyes. She threw her arms around his neck, feeling his head burrowing harder into her back, and they remained there for a good few minutes, revelling in the restoration of their old friendship.

Remus and Hagrid watched from the edge of the clearing, feeling rather emotional themselves to watch the touching exchange. Hagrid had known that (F/N) would be more than thrilled to be reunited with her hippogriff, and also that Aeolus would be delighted to see his ‘mother’, but it was Remus who realised the full implications of this meeting: another piece of (F/N)’s past had been returned to her, and she would be the happier for it. This simple fact made his heart swell.

When (F/N) finally let go of his neck, Aeolus turned and squawked suddenly into the trees. There was silence but for a few birds that took terrified flight at the sound of his call. Aeolus, ever the bold character, swished his tail impatiently and trotted over to the opposite side of the glade. He stopped in front of an overgrown forest path that clearly had not been used in decades, and pawed the ground with one taloned front foot. Another squawk, much louder this time, and then he waited.

(F/N) could hear twigs snapping and leaves rustling somewhere beyond the clearing. A minute later, another familiar hippogriff emerged from the depths of the Forbidden Forest and clicked her beak indignantly at Aeolus. (F/N) smiled broadly; it was the beautiful chestnut female from before, the one the Marauders had been practising interacting with (and whom, (F/N) remembered, Aeolus had been rather interested in). To her delight, though, it was not only she who entered the clearing.

“Oh, _Aeolus_ … _!”_ (F/N) gasped, as a much smaller hippogriff came trotting up behind the female – his mother. The little one was not very little all, but still enough to require parental care. His coat was steely grey, just like his beak, but his colouring gave him the appearance of a storm cloud threatening snow. He clapped eyes on (F/N) immediately and froze stock-still on his gangly legs.

Aeolus came up to the foal and nudged him with the flat of his head. The foal stumbled forward, clearly unsure of what his father was making him do, then looked at (F/N) with enormous orange eyes. She was reminded so sharply of Aeolus as a baby that her breath caught in her throat, and she nearly choked on the sudden rush of emotion. She forced herself into a bow, hoping to put the foal at ease, but struggled at the same time with not bursting into tears again.

The foal didn’t seem to know what to do – not until his mother clicked her beak at him. He bent his front legs and sank into a bow of his own, making (F/N) smile. When they straightened up again, she offered him a hand to investigate, and when he was finally sure of her, he trotted up to her fully and nudged her hand, eager for attention.

Remus and Hagrid smiled as they watched (F/N) settling down in the grass to sit and play with the baby hippogriff. It was getting late, and they all still had classes to teach the next day, but neither of them wanted to spoil (F/N)’s good time. While Hagrid stood perfectly still, watching from the shadows so as not to spook the hippogriffs, Remus slowly moved to lean against a tree trunk, arms folded across his chest, watching his friend with great fondness.

 _She deserves this_ , he thought. A bit of normality, and a reminder of the good old days. He knew it was only a matter of time before she took to the skies on Aeolus’ back again, and people would see them soaring across the lake.

After some time, the foal yawned as any sleepy child would at that hour, and his mother nuzzled him gently, but firmly enough to usher him back towards the woods, where they obviously had their nest. (F/N) watched them go with a smile on her face and grinned all the more when Aeolus turned back briefly, flapped his wings and gave her a friendly squawk that, to her, clearly meant ‘see you later’.

(F/N) returned to Hagrid and Remus and heaved a great, happy sigh. She couldn’t stop smiling. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to, because her satisfaction was evident.

“How long had you known …?” she asked Hagrid, gazing happily up into his shaggy face.

“They came back a couple days before the start o’ term,” replied Hagrid gently, smiling down at her. “Kettleburn told yeh yer hippogriff would know yeh’re back,”

(F/N) smiled even more. Worrying for Hagrid’s less-than-perfect first day had been ameliorated immensely by this wonderful surprise. She glanced at Remus, who smiled warmly back at her. Even if he hadn’t been beside her this evening, it was rewarding enough for him to know she had been reunited with another old friend.

(F/N) approached Hagrid and hugged him as tightly as she could. “Thank you so much,” she murmured as he patted her back, as lightly as he could. He didn’t say anything, but chuckled deeply instead.

It suddenly seemed much too soon, but the three teachers turned around and headed back the way they came through the darkening Forest, returning to the castle before it got too late. It was another busy day ahead, and (F/N) was acutely aware of how much more difficult that second day would be for Hagrid than any of her other colleagues.

Hagrid stopped at his hut and waved (F/N) and Remus on. (F/N) wanted to stay and talk to him, to reassure him about the disastrous lesson with his third-years, but she could tell by his expression that taking her to see Aeolus had been a welcome distraction. She didn’t want to push the matter, and she certainly didn’t want to remind him of his worries if he had just about managed to push them from his mind. She knew that feeling only too well.

Just as he had the evening prior, Remus walked (F/N) all the way back to her classroom, even though it wasn’t on the way to his. After telling him that it was sweet, but really quite unnecessary, Remus mumbled something mostly incoherent about wanting to make sure she made it back safely.

“What, just in case Peeves drops a chandelier on me?” she chuckled, teasing him as he looked anywhere but at her.

“Well, no, not exactly …” Remus muttered, trying very hard not to blush. For him, it was more the threat of Sirius somehow getting into the castle and becoming a risk to (F/N) that made his stomach churn. The simple fact that Sirius knew all the secret passageways that Remus did, because of their antics during their school days, filled him with deepest dread. He couldn’t very well tell Dumbledore, either, because that would be an admission that he had, once upon a time, betrayed his trust.

“You’re right,” said (F/N) cheekily. “Dear old Peevsey has no quarrel with me. We actually get along quite well,”

Remus looked at her and raised a questioning eyebrow. “Do you really?”

“Oh, he’d tease me as a student, sure … But he’s a sweetheart now. Just you wait and see, one of these days,”

“Probably because if you were a poltergeist, you could give him a run for his money,” said Remus, without thinking. As soon as the words left his mouth, though, he realised their implication and hurriedly corrected himself. “I didn’t mean …”

(F/N) chuckled. “I know, Moony; we’re just talking. You worry far too much,”

It took a moment or two for the awkwardness to pass, but when it did the friends bade each other a fond ‘goodnight’ and went their separate ways. Once inside, (F/N) breathed a sigh of contentment and made her way to her quarters, got ready for bed and climbed beneath the covers with a book to read.

Worry flitted across her mind as she thought of Hagrid again, but that was a thought for another time. It was quickly replaced with Aeolus and his little family, and (F/N) smiled to herself. If she trusted her mind to stay fixed on that happy thought all night, then she thought she might go without her Dreamless Sleep potion for once … but she _didn’t_ trust it, so she poured herself a capful when she finished reading.

She began what was sure to be another exciting day after a completely uneventful night’s sleep, feeling no worse or better for it. The good thing about Dreamless Sleep potion was that it allowed her to start every day afresh. The decidedly _worse_ flipside of taking it was that she was, without a doubt, becoming too reliant upon it.

A problem to tackle another day, though, she thought.

She was absolutely ecstatic when she checked her timetable for the day and realised that she was due to teach Harry’s class twice _._ Once in Transfiguration, in the morning, and again in Potions in the afternoon. Feeling lighter than she had when she first woke up, (F/N) dressed, dabbed on a little makeup to make it look like she’d crawled out of bed and not a grave, grabbed her wand from where it sat atop her desk, and made her way down to breakfast.

It was an uneventful morning, even in spite of several Slytherin third-years bleating in the corridors about how “terribly worried” they were about Draco Malfoy. Needless to say, Hagrid had not been at breakfast and (F/N) very much doubted that Care of Magical Creatures would be taught at any point that day, either. In any event, she had not yet been asked to cover any of her friend’s lessons, so she assumed everything was under control.

Transfiguration with Harry’s class second period was interesting, to say the least. She was thrilled to see her godson and his friends, of course, as well as young Neville and the little group he tagged along with, but some of the other Gryffindors were rather … excitable.

Lavender Brown was very jittery about something, and her friend Parvati sat very close, quietly talking her down from whatever was troubling her. (F/N), ever the maternal sort, slowly approached the girls and asked Lavender what was on her mind.

“Oh …” said the girl, not having expected the teacher to notice what was going on, even though she and her friend sat squarely in (F/N)’s line of sight from her desk. “It’s nothing, Professor, just … No, it’s really nothing …”

(F/N) smiled kindly. “I’ve never known anything that was ‘really nothing’ to make someone as upset as if it was actually ‘really something’,” she said softly. She had noticed that Harry, Ron and Hermione were watching them from the row behind, listening to their exchange.

Still, she kept her gaze fixed firmly but gently on Lavender. The girl felt as though the information her professor sought was about to come tumbling out of her mouth at any second, whether she wanted it to or not, but … she _did_ want it to. She had not had much experience of Professor Castor so far, but there was something undeniably trustworthy about her.

“Professor Trelawney told me that something I’m dreading will happen on Friday the sixteenth of October …” she whispered in a fearful voice, leaning low across her desk and looking up at (F/N) with huge, frightened eyes.

(F/N)’s brow furrowed. That didn’t seem like a very nice way to introduce new students to a subject, but she would not refute Sybill’s skill as a seer. She bit her bottom lip briefly while she considered her response, then made a small tutting noise.

“Well, I will not undermine Professor Trelawney by challenging her visions but, if my own mind serves correctly …” (F/N) paused for a moment, reaching out for Lavender’s day-to-day diary that she had taken out with her other class books. (F/N) worked back to the sixteenth of October from the thirty-first, a date she remembered only too well, and flipped to that page of Lavender’s diary to prove what she had already calculated.

“The sixteenth of October is not a Friday, but a Saturday,” she concluded calmly. “Now, this is not to say that what Professor Trelawney warns will _not_ come to pass -” She held up a soothing hand to quiet Lavender as she became fearful again. “- but it _is_ a perfect opportunity for me to pass on some very sage advice that my own Divination professor gave to me, many years ago,”

Lavender and Parvati – and, indeed, anyone nearby who had halted their conversations to eavesdrop – stared at (F/N), rapt. It seemed to be the mention of another wise seer and the significance this obviously held for their teacher that caught their interest so.

“ _Just because no one has done something, or you haven’t heard of anyone doing it, doesn’t make that thing impossible_ ,” she said, almost as softly as Moran had spoken to her. “My teacher told me that the same applies to reading the future. Just because no one has changed the future, it doesn’t mean it cannot be done, and just because someone says it is so, does not mean it will happen that way. I … learned that lesson well,”

Lavender and Parvati did not miss the way Professor Castor’s eyes glistened slightly as she said this, but they didn’t ask what they thought would be nosy questions. They could only continue to stare, wondering at this strange advice that also struck a chord with them.

“Tell me, Miss Brown: what is it you are afraid of?”

“… I’m scared that I’ll lose someone close to me,” she said in a timid voice.

“Anyone in particular? Or just ‘someone’?”

“No, it’s just … I have a sinking feeling in my heart that something bad will happen to someone I care about,”

(F/N) smiled again, but more gently than ever. She knew the feeling. “The best advice I can offer, my dear, is to try and put it from your mind for now. A seer can tell you what could – or will – happen in the future, but they can’t predict every little thing that may happen in the meantime to alter the path,”

Lavender gave her a weak smile, and Parvati rubbed her friend’s arm reassuringly. “Thank you, Professor,” said the former, and (F/N) nodded, smiling all the while. She made her way back to the front of the classroom knowing her work there was done, and Lavender would be less concerned about what the following weeks held in store.

When she turned back to the class, leaning against her desk with her hands behind her, she surveyed them all with a smile that was quite different to the one she had given Lavender. It was one meant for multiple people, and she was pleased to see the number of smiles she got in return. Predictably, those who didn’t smile back were members of young Malfoy’s inner circle.

She couldn’t fathom why they didn’t like her. She hadn’t done anything – good or bad – yet. Maybe they were just wary. Maybe they knew she was friends with Hagrid.

Maybe she didn’t care either way.

“Good morning, everyone,” she said, quieting any last-minute conversations. “Although this is our first lesson together so far, I think I’ve probably seen most of you come through the hospital wing once or twice in the past, so we can probably skip the introductions. However, I will say this: welcome to my classroom,”

She extended her arms to indicate the room itself, still decorated magically to look like a forest, as though to present it to the students officially. Again, most of them smiled at her greeting, and it was then that she realised that much of the conversation that had taken place before the lesson began had everything to do with the décor. Some students were still peering at the walls, as though trying to see through the ‘trees’, and others were tapping their feet on the floor to test the ‘grass’ underfoot.

“You’ll find my teaching methods quite different to some of your other professors,” (F/N) went on. “You may not think me as strict as Professor McGonagall, or Professor Snape, or as … ahem … _routine_ as Professor Binns –” There were a few giggles at this. ‘Routine’ is not the word most would have used to describe Professor Binns. “– but that does not mean I will tolerate silly behaviour or less than your very best _efforts_ ,”

Neville looked quite relieved to hear the word ‘efforts’. It had privately been his biggest concern that the nurse he had become so fond of the previous year would turn into the sort of teacher he feared, and that he would not be able to live up to her expectations. Clearly, he thought, she wasn’t at all like Professor Snape.

“I do also expect one other thing …” said (F/N), a little more quietly this time. She turned her back to the class and approached the blackboard, before using her wand to draw several diagrams and writing the formulae to go with them. When she turned back, every student was staring at her in confusion. “… and that is you all try to _have fun,_ ”

Now everyone was thoroughly bemused, but (F/N) just grinned.

“You can take notes later, but for now, I shall demonstrate today’s lesson objective,” she said. She took her wand again, pointed it at a paperweight sitting on her desk, and spoke the incantation, _“Lapifors,_ ”

It turned promptly into a rabbit, and hopped off the desk to vanish underneath a nearby cabinet. A couple of people cooed, most notably Lavender Brown.

“So! Turning a small object into a rabbit …” (F/N) went on, returning to her blackboard. “I know it might not seem like much fun to begin with, but you all need to know where this particular spell takes root, before you go turning objects into furry animals willy-nilly,” She pointed her wand at the first diagram on the board, and everyone took out their exercise books and quills, ready to take notes. “The basics are fairly simple, and are very similar to other object-to-animal spells, and vice versa …”

(F/N) didn’t know whether her third-years were particularly fond of Transfiguration or whether she just got lucky today, but they all worked very diligently. When the time came to take notes, most people were quiet and got on with their work, and when she asked questions she was offered more than a couple of hands in the air. Hermione’s _always_ went up, but she had to be careful not to pick her too many times. She was proud, nevertheless, that such a bright young witch was friends with her godson.

Harry himself handled a question or two, and when it came to attempting the spell themselves, he, Ron and Hermione were easily three of the best. No one _quite_ managed the full transfiguration, but the trio were definitely very close. Dean Thomas also came very close, giving his ink pot a set of white ears, a fluffy tail, and apparently the desire to hop around on his desk.

By the end of the lesson, she had given house points to both Gryffindor and Slytherin, and the only homework she set was to keep practising the spell in their own time, ready for a test the following week. The bell rang for morning break, and most students left her classroom with wide smiles on their faces, chattering confidently about what they had learned. When she was alone once more, reeling in the success of her first lesson with Harry, she sat down at her desk – Moran’s old desk, she was sharply reminded – and gazed out of the window.

She sighed contentedly. If every day could go as smoothly as the last hour, her soul would be well on its way to healing.

There was a gentle knock on the open door, and then the actual words, “Knock, knock …”

She looked up and a smile broke on her face once more. “Hey, Moony … How are you?”

He smiled back, as softly as always, and entered the room. “I am well, thank you. I just saw Harry and his friends walking the other way; did you just teach their class?”

“I did …” said (F/N).

“That explains the wistful look on your face when I got here,” said Remus, pulling up a chair and sitting in front of her desk. “Sometimes it’s easier to tell how you’re feeling by looking at you, instead of merely asking,”

“You always were the insightful one,” said (F/N) fondly. “I’m all right, though. He’s a clever lad, and I’m sure he’ll do well,”

Remus studied her for a moment, taking in her features and comparing what he saw with his memories of how she looked when she was truly happy. They did not match.

“You’re sad,” he said quietly. The certainty of his statement caught (F/N) off-guard.

“I …” she began, almost as if to argue that, actually, she was quite content. She _was,_ after all. The lesson had been a roaring success. But, regrettably, her old friend was right. “Yes … I am sad,” she confessed.

Remus cocked his head slightly, like a puppy listening to the sound of someone’s voice. His expression was one of purest sympathy. “Do you want to talk about it?”

(F/N) gave him a funny little smile. “You didn’t come all the way here to waste your breaktime talking to me about my troubles,” she said lightly, as though to dissuade him.

“I came all the way here to _talk_ _to you_ ,” said Remus, with a hint of amusement in his voice. Still, his tender, green eyes held such sincerity that it made (F/N) want to cry. “If we were to end up talking about sad things, then so be it. At least you wouldn’t have to deal with them alone,”

(F/N) smiled even more, although her eyes were shiny with tears again. “I do love you, Remus. Please don’t ever change,”

His heart skipped a few beats and he felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him, but he recovered with remarkable speed. He fought the colour rising to his cheeks and forced his usual smile onto his face instead, for heaven forbid (F/N) should cotton on to the fact that he desperately wanted to tell her he loved her far more.

“I won’t. I’ll always be here for you,”

(F/N) was about to get up and hug him, when suddenly a group of students walked past the door, reminding her that they were only on the fourth floor. She cleared her throat, smiled sweetly, and replied, “Likewise,”

They didn’t speak of what was troubling (F/N), but instead spent breaktime chatting about other things over coffee and biscuits. They laughed about how strange it was that they seemed to dunk their biscuits in their drinks in exactly the same way, and Remus laughed even more when half of (F/N)’s custard cream broke off in her mug and sank.

“Truly, one of life’s greatest tragedies,” said (F/N) mirthlessly, staring mournfully into her coffee. She shook her head and sighed. “I have to drink this, now,”

In all, it was a breaktime well-spent. (F/N) couldn’t get over how much better she felt for Remus having arrived and taken her mind off things she didn’t even realise she had been dwelling on. She began to miss him almost the minute he left the room to go and collect his third-period class, but her mind was yanked from those pining thoughts by the arrival of her own Defence Against the Dark Arts class, an ensemble of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff fifth-years.

The rest of the day went as smoothly as before, and when Harry’s class returned for Potions for their final lesson of the day, (F/N) was feeling rather relaxed – a marked turnaround from how she had partially felt while looking out of the window that morning. For Potions, she had to relocate to a dungeon classroom because that was where all the ingredients were, as well as sinks to wash up in and ample room for cauldrons. It was also darker and cooler - better conditions for potion-brewing altogether.

“Welcome back, Gryffindors,” she said serenely, smiling at Harry in particular, as he, Ron and Hermione jostled their way to the front to park themselves at the foremost table – incidentally, the table closest to the teacher’s desk. “And it is lovely to see such a splendid group of Hufflepuffs,” she added, beaming around at them all. Harry glanced over at some of the people he’d never shared a Potions class with before – not a single pair of eyes strayed from Professor Castor, prompting him to return his own to the front. It had, after all, been his idea to try and sit as close as possible.

“Today I’ll be teaching you about the Antidote to Common Poisons,” said (F/N). “It’s always useful to know this recipe, and today’s lesson will provide a good foundation to help you move on to the Antidote for _Un_ common Poisons,”

There was not a peep from any of the students. (F/N) was pleased.

“So, as with most things, we’ll start with a little theory first, a little history, and then we’ll roll up our sleeves and get down to the good stuff,” said (F/N). “I will, of course, provide a demonstration before leaving you to your own devices,”

The lesson got underway, and it seemed like no time at all before (F/N) was giving that demonstration. She very dutifully made sure not to ‘adapt’ the potion in any way, preferring to avoid confrontation with Severus, even if their students’ potions functioned perfectly in spite of her experimental deviations. When part one was finished, and her example was simmering away in the corner by itself, she sent the class away to begin brewing their own. As she made her way among the tables, though, she noticed that Neville’s hands were shaking as he tried to crush his Bezoar, and he was biting his lip quite hard.

“Are you all right, Neville?” she asked, making the poor boy jump.

“Oh, er … y-yes, Professor, thank you …”

“Are you sure? You don’t _look_ all right,”

“Professor Snape gives Neville a bit of a hard time in this class,” said Neville’s friend, Seamus. It was a bold statement, and spoken with a dash of impudence, but it did provide the answer (F/N) was looking for. It certainly explained Neville’s anxiety.

“It’s n-nothing,” Neville insisted. “I’m fine; I’ll be all right …”

He wouldn’t stop shaking, though. (F/N), feeling deep pity for the boy (and, at the bottom of her heart, anger towards Severus for making a student feel so nervous – what must he have said in the past to make Neville behave like this?) reached out and gently took the mortar and pestle away from him, placing them on the table. He gave them up easily, yielding the equipment to the same, gentle hands that treated his wounds the previous year.

“What is it that worries you, Neville?” she asked softly, searching his face in such a way that made him feel he couldn’t lie to her. “Maybe I can help. I am not, after all, Professor Snape. I’m not _any_ of your other teachers,”

Neville realised the truth in this very simple, obvious statement. She was indeed a very different person to all of their other professors. It put him at ease – she had not, after all, rebuked him or made him feel even slightly unworthy earlier that day, when he had been unable to transfigure anything into a rabbit, or even give an object ears, as Dean had.

“I always get my potions wrong, and then they’re ruined. I’ll miss a step, maybe, and then it all goes out the window …”

“Well, I hope that’s not a _literal_ description of what happens …” said (F/N), drawing from Neville an uninhibited giggle, the desired response to her intentionally silly comment.

“No, but it does mean there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m just not good at Potions …”

(F/N) could hardly stand it. Neville looked so dejected. She wanted to go down the corridor to Severus’ room and shout at him, but that certainly wouldn’t go over well. Instead, she gave a short sigh and wiped the thought from her mind, giving Neville a confident smile. “Wait there,” she said, and marched to the front of the classroom.

“Can everybody please get themselves to a point where they can safely pause their brewing,” she called out above the low chatter and bubbling of cauldrons. She couldn’t quite see the students at the very back because of the steam filling the room, but as long as they could hear her, that was all that really mattered.

Once everyone was quiet and she could no longer see or hear anyone moving about, she continued. “Thank you. It has just been brought to my attention that there may be a few concerns floating around that potions are ‘ruined’ once a miscalculation or misstep has been made. Well, I am here to tell you that need not always be the case,”

Everyone stared at her in either intrigue or bewilderment. Hermione, in particular, was fascinated because she was a firm believer that potions could and should only be brewed according to their instructions, or else they were lost.

“Back in my second year at Hogwarts, I got into an argument with one of my closest friends. He was excellent at Potions, and didn’t like the fact that I enjoyed experimenting. “Mucking about”, he called it. My potions actually always came out very nicely, but his … criticism, shall we call it, drew my attention to the possibility that, one day, my luck might run out. So, I came up with a solution …”

Everyone was still paying her their full attention, and even more so when she asked them to join in with the next part. “I invented a spell. I never had to use it, other than to test it, but it does work. You point your wand at your potion – in whatever vessel it might be held – and say, _‘Priori Aderrorem’,_ to return it to the step you were on before … well. Before you ‘ruined’ it,” she said, finishing on a chuckle. “You all try it: _Priori Aderrorem,_ ”

There was suddenly a great deal of chanting, and people pointing their wands at the tables in front of them. Ever curious, Hermione tried it on her Antidote and found that it _didn’t_ work. (F/N) chuckled again.

“It won’t work if you haven’t made a mistake,” she pointed out. Hermione smiled bashfully and blushed. (F/N) then pulled a thoughtful expression. “Although, theoretically, if you were experimenting and used the spell, it would put you back to where you were before your ‘deviation’, but you could use it again to return to where you were in your experiment … After all, going back on your discovery would be a big mistake too, no?”

Hermione nodded enthusiastically. “So, how does that spell actually _work,_ Professor?”

“It comes from the mind,” said (F/N) simply. “You know what you’re trying to achieve, so regardless of the end goal, it will adapt to whatever you’re doing. Since the spell only ‘knows’ as much as you do, it won’t set you back so far that you have to start again, but it also removes the need to start over completely if you _do_ know where you went wrong. As such, it won’t really help if you don’t know what you’re doing, so you can’t use it as a get-out-of-learning clause …”

Hermione looked thrilled by this, but Neville, who was only a table away, looked forlorn. He put his head down, though, and attempted his potion in spite of his nerves, because he knew Professor Castor had tried to help. After all, it was his own doing that she stood in front of the class and showed them the spell she invented.

With Seamus’ help – which he reluctantly accepted, given Seamus’ tendency to set things on fire – Neville eventually managed to catch up with the rest of the class, just in time to watch the demonstration for part two, and for it to actually benefit him. Afterwards, the class set off again and finished their potions with a very high rate of success. (F/N) was very satisfied with the outcome.

“All right everyone, bottle your potions and leave them on my desk for grading, and make a note of today’s homework: a short essay on common poisons, and the use of the Antidote throughout magical medical history – _in your own words._ I’ll be able to tell if you’ve plagiarised a library book,”

Harry, Ron and Hermione proudly presented their potions to (F/N)’s desk and smiled at her before they left; Harry’s smile, in particular, made (F/N) feel as though he had just rammed a harpoon into her heart, and was now trying to pull it out of the door with him. To distract herself, she looked at the potions they’d left and smiled, too – they were the perfect colour, at least, so that was a good sign.

Neville approached her next, and nervously presented his potion. She picked it up immediately and inspected it, smiling as she did so. Within an instant, Neville felt the tension leave his body and he started to smile too. It was a far better reaction than he ever got out of Professor Snape.

“You’ve done very well, Neville. It’s a lovely colour, and you did all of the steps correctly – I was watching,”

The boy blushed scarlet and stuttered out a thank-you before adding that he ought to go and join his friends. (F/N) smiled again and excused him. When the classroom finally fell silent, (F/N) gathered up all of her papers and students’ books, then cast her eye over the potions sitting on her desk.

A very calm, content feeling washed over her, and it took her a moment to realise what it was: satisfaction. She listened to the sounds of people bustling about in the castle around her, and finally allowed herself a smile that was for her, and her alone.

Her time as an Auror had come and gone. She had given her best to that job, and she had died as an Auror, too. She couldn’t pick up that mantle again, though. In spite of that, she was doing something worthwhile once more, and teaching was, she felt, a calling she could devote the rest of her life to.

It was an immensely soothing thought.


	17. Chapter 17

The majority of the days to come were easily navigable for (F/N), simply because everything fell into place and teaching seemed to come naturally. She was reminded frequently of her own schooldays, and her old dream of becoming a professor, borne of her love of coaching her classmates. Now her dream had become reality, and she was working in what was possibly the safest place in the entire wizarding world (or in the country, at the very least).

It wasn’t long, though, before (F/N) began to notice tension rising over certain topics. Everyone was concerned about Sirius’ escape from Azkaban, for one thing, which (F/N) found most unsettling. Then there were the Dementors haunting the outskirts of the school, which did nothing to assuage people’s fears, because the creatures themselves were every bit as terrifying as the prospect of a runaway murderer. Even though (F/N) knew better about Sirius, she was still in no position to change anyone’s mind about what they believed about him.

Not even Remus’.

(F/N) would meet with him every Saturday to discuss their shared subject. They would have their professional meetings as expected, but it would inevitably dissolve into friendly chitchat. However, no matter how close they were, (F/N) knew that she would never be able to convince him of Sirius’ innocence – not without substantial proof, which she didn’t have.

After all, the Ministry itself hadn’t listened to her eyewitness testimony, and it was in their best interest to know what really happened. Why would Remus, when he had lost every single one of his friends to that terrible night? Why would he believe (F/N), when he had seen for himself how she and Sirius had parted ways?

(F/N) became more cheerful at the mention of how well Remus’ first DADA lesson went with Harry’s class, even if he admitted he hadn’t let Harry face his own Boggart. Remus told her about Neville’s, though, and although (F/N) had smiled a little, she still gave her friend a very slow nod.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“That explains why Severus was in such a dreadful mood,” she replied, recalling her meeting with him the evening prior. He had been incredibly argumentative, and had implied that the reason Neville, and other students whose best subject was not Potions, were doing much better now was because she must have been marking their work too leniently. This being a provocation if she ever encountered one, (F/N) had thrust one of Neville’s latest homework assignments across the desk at Severus, and made him read it – _carefully._

Severus had been forced to concede that (F/N) had marked the assignment fairly, and none of Neville's answers had actually been incorrect. He still wasn’t top of his class – not by a long margin – but he wasn’t failing, either. Angry at being mistaken, Severus had avoided discussing the matter further, but demanded to know why some students were now using a spell he’d never seen before, to correct potions that had gone awry.

“Because I taught it to them,” (F/N) had told him, defiantly.

“Where did _you_ pick up that spell?” he growled.

“I invented it – obviously,”

“ _When?”_

“In our second year, when you decided I was too annoying to be your friend,”

Severus opened his mouth to protest that allegation, but quickly closed it again. He had too many questions, all of a sudden, and (F/N) could tell. He was going to argue back, but he had no idea she had invented a spell – less a spell to serve as a safety net in case any of her experiments ever _did_ go wrong. Above all, though, he had had no idea how badly their argument affected her at the time.

As (F/N) was telling Remus about this conversation with Severus, he chuckled somewhat mirthlessly and shook his head. “Severus has it in for me as well,” he said quietly, taking a sip of tea. “I know old wounds run deep, but I had hoped we would be able to foster a civil working relationship,”

(F/N) sighed and nodded. “You know, I think that if you consider our histories together, it’s not really surprising that this is the way things are. This _is_ civil. At least you’re not hanging each other upside-down in the corridors like you used to,”

Remus blushed. “I was a coward,” he said. “I let the others bully him, and by extension, I bullied him too. For heaven’s sake, I even let them give you and Lily a hard time …”

(F/N) frowned and gazed at Remus in confusion, wondering where his sudden dolour had come from. He was staring into his tea, probably at his reflection, and his expression was one of regret.

“Remus, you’re not a coward. You wanted to be accepted because of your condition, and you didn’t want to be alone. Anyone could understand that. Besides, I think you’ll recall that Lil and I gave as good as we got,”

Remus looked at her with green eyes that appeared very wet, all of a sudden, although he smiled at her final comment. “How did you know that about me?” he asked.

“Because I know _you_ ,” said (F/N), glancing down into her own mug. “I’m not saying you weren’t a troublemaker, because you were, but … so was I,” she added, smiling up at him. “I thought I was raised by my aunt, who I later realised should actually have been a Squib. Turns out she was my mother all along, even though I _thought_ I was an orphan. My closest friend as a child was a Muggle. When I came here, I just wanted to fit in too. So, what I’m trying to say is … I get it. Perhaps, if things had been different – or even if they change moving forward – Severus would get it as well. He just wanted to belong too, you know,”

Remus didn’t know what to say, or do, so he simply nodded in hopeful agreement. (F/N) had so often been right in the past, and there was no reason in his mind why she wouldn’t be now, about this. He wanted to hug her, but there was something about the situation that suggested maintaining a respectful distance might be better.

As time went on, (F/N) noticed that the negative points of that new school year went hand-in-hand with the positives, and she found herself becoming familiar with both. She had loved being a nurse, but she adored being a professor, and her students were (mostly) delightful. However, there were multiple things that weighed quite heavily upon her: Severus’ bad moods, for one, seemed caused by everyone but were largely directed at her. If this was because he knew her well and felt comfortable – on a subconscious level – in venting his frustrations to her, (F/N) did not know. What she _did_ know, though, was that it was taking everything she had to not snap back at him.

Severus himself held a very different view of the matter. Not only did he feel upstaged by (F/N) in a professional sense, because she had, in a few weeks, achieved what he had long since written off as a lost cause (elevating the grades of some of his lowest-achieving students), but he also had to contend with the fact that he was both perpetually mad _at_ and mad _about_ the woman. These conflicting emotions curdled to create a sickening concoction of rage and jealousy when he learned that he did not, in fact, hold the ‘best’ regular meeting time with her – that _privilege_ went to Lupin, of course. He had, in Severus’ eyes, commandeered (F/N)’s Saturday afternoons, and as the days grew colder and shorter, it seemed to the brooding Potions master that there could be more developing between the two friends than initially met the eye.

This, of course, did nothing to cool his temper, and nor did the news of someone having sighted Black not far from Hogwarts. After all, Severus was looking out for (F/N) just as dutifully as he was for Potter; he could not bear it if anything befell (F/N) because of another monster she had once loved.

This news of Sirius was, of course, another thing to dampen (F/N)’s spirits. She was, naturally, extremely worried about what would happen if he was captured (although, admittedly, if she cared to think on the matter, she could very well imagine what would become of him). Her focus had to be on Harry, though, lest she raise anyone’s suspicions within the castle. His safety, as ever, was her topmost priority.

His safety was not always guaranteed, though, especially not when the Quidditch season began. (F/N) braced herself every day for news that her godson had come a cropper out on the Quidditch pitch, and she frequently snuck glances out of the castle windows in the hopes of catching sight of the Gryffindor team during training – this she did with increasing motherly angst as the weather worsened and the evenings grew darker, and it was all she could do not to blow her cover and fuss over him, as she had been yearning for far too long.

There was yet another thing: Hallowe’en was upon them. (F/N) was sure it would never be a good day for her – at least, she would never enjoy it as she did when she was young, forever tainted as it was. She once again found herself wanting to be alone, so on the morning of the day itself, she decided to go for a walk. She went down to the Forest for a while, hoping to see Aeolus and his family, but they must have been further in or somewhere else entirely. She then traded the leafy coolness for a view of the lake, feeling as though the cold wind blowing across the water might also be able to banish the darkness that swirled inside her like a leeching fog.

It was no good. On her way back to the castle, she caught sight of the tree that she, Lily and Severus had sat beneath at the end of every school year. That tree always looked so lonely, now. 

Feeling sadder than she had when she first woke up that morning, (F/N) returned to the castle with her only intention being to go back to her room and stay there. It was a quiet day, and it wasn't as though she had anywhere to be, or anyone to meet ...

“Professor Castor?”

She stopped in her tracks in the corridor she had been walking along, and backtracked to see who had called out to her. Then she realised that she was right outside Remus’ office, and she peered inside to see him sitting with Harry, having a cup of tea. An angry Grindylow made rude gestures at their backs from its tank in the corner of the room.

“Professor Lupin … Harry …” she replied, by way of greeting.

“Would you like to join us?” asked Remus, indicating with only his eyes that he was rather hoping she would accept.

Unable to say no to him – or Harry, for that matter, since he had given her a little smile – (F/N) smiled in return and nodded. “Thank you – that would be lovely,”

She pulled up a chair between her friend and her godson, and plastered a happy expression onto her face. Remus poured her some tea, and as they continued to talk among themselves, (F/N) tried to ignore the Grindylow who was now sticking out its tongue at her. She wanted to feed it, actually, but she knew that now was not the time for fussing over magical creatures – water demons or otherwise.

“So, Harry … Why aren’t you in Hogsmeade with your friends today?” (F/N) asked gently, smiling at the boy and taking a sip of tea.

Harry looked disappointed all over again, and (F/N) supposed that Remus must have already talked to him about it. “My aunt and uncle didn’t sign my permission slip,” he replied miserably.

“Oh …” said (F/N), as a bitter feeling bubbled up inside her. “… May I ask why not?”

Harry hadn’t wanted to tell anyone the real reason why Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia refused to sign his permission slip, but he felt safe and unjudged in the presence of two of his favourite professors.

“My uncle’s sister – Aunt Marge – came to visit for a week in the summer. She’s always horrible to me, but Uncle Vernon said that, if I behaved while she was there, he would sign my form. Well, she ended up being the reason the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad got called out …”

Remus glanced at (F/N) and saw that her eyes were ablaze.

“What happened?” she asked.

“I inflated her, I think,” said Harry. “She just … blew up. Like a balloon,”

“What did she do to make you so angry?”

Harry thought it interesting that Professor Castor knew it had been because Aunt Marge made him angry that day; she could have assumed differently, and that it had been a magical accident borne of stress or sadness, but no. She had rightly supposed that it had been because of rage.

On the subject of anger … Harry wasn’t sure he liked the look on Professor Castor’s face. A muscle twitched dangerously in her jaw, and her cheekbones were beginning to look a little mottled, with a warm, pink hue. He answered her question anyway.

“She called my dad a drunk and basically said I was no good because my mum was no good. She compared us to dogs,”

Remus had been secretly admiring (F/N)’s ability to discreetly encourage Harry to talk about this, but he felt an impossibly hot flash of anger course through him to hear what had been said about James and Lily. That was nothing, though, compared to the wild fury that burned in (F/N)’s blood. Harry took another quick look at the woman who had such a motherly way with all of her students, and quickly came to the conclusion that she was not one he ever wanted to be in trouble with.

Remembering her place, and remembering who she was talking to, (F/N) smothered the inferno as quickly as it had ignited. “Well, I admire your restraint, anyhow,” she said, confusing her company greatly.

“What do you mean, Professor?” asked Harry.

“If it had been me, your uncle’s sister would have come off much worse. I’ve had far more extreme reactions to things in fits of pique,” (F/N) replied, giving her godson a funny little smirk. Harry grinned broadly, thinking it quite wonderful that an otherwise mild woman clearly had a mischievous streak.

Remus also smiled, but his was much softer. (F/N) and Harry deserved to be together as godmother and godson, but he understood (F/N)’s reasons for keeping her true identity from the boy. It pained him, too, to see the anguish it caused his friend, but knew it was safest for everyone.

“So, you’re moving on to Grindylows next, hm?” said (F/N), changing the subject and taking another sip of tea. Her eyes glittered at Remus over the rim of her cup.

Trying not to stammer, Remus nodded and said, “Yes, I was just telling Harry about them before you got here,”

“You’re in good hands, Harry,” said (F/N), glancing back at him. “Professor Lupin has always had a very keen understanding of this subject,”

“He is a very good teacher,” said Harry, who then blushed quite hotly as he realised what he had just said, without thinking first. “B-but … you said ‘always’ …?”

(F/N) smiled again, and so did Remus. “We’re old schoolfriends, as it happens,” said the latter, leaning back slightly in his chair. “We … ran in similar circles. We were in the same house, and had most of the same lessons,”

Harry’s eyes flitted between the two professors, wondering if the fondness in Lupin’s voice was indicative of a closer bond than he was actually admitting to. Harry knew he wouldn’t have been the first to suspect that Lupin and Castor were an item, given they could be seen together most Saturdays, and often sat next to each other at mealtimes. Every time _he_ had seen them in each other’s company, certainly, they were both constantly smiling.

“So did you also get the same sort of lesson on Boggarts?” Harry asked, trying to forget the notion that he might have been some sort of bizarre third wheel at that moment in time.

(F/N) paused and placed her cup down on a nearby table. “Yes, actually. Although I didn’t see it through to the end …”

Harry was about to enquire further when Lupin interrupted. “It’s a relatively standard method of teaching a class about the creatures. I think you all did very well,”

If Harry had not been sitting right next to them, (F/N) would have given Remus a very grateful look. It was painful enough that her Boggart had been _herself_ , without adding to it the fact that this so-called ‘power’ of hers was not good enough to protect her closest friends. She didn’t want to have to explain her troubles to someone so young, and with so many of his own to cope with.

Instead of asking about (F/N)’s experience with Boggarts, Harry appeared distracted by Remus’ diversion and chose to ask him why he didn’t let him face his own Boggart.

“I assumed it would take the shape of Lord Voldemort,” said Remus, almost candidly. “I thought it might have caused a bit of a panic if _he_ appeared in the staff room,”

(F/N) was as surprised as Harry was to hear Remus using Voldemort’s name aloud. However, that surprise paled in comparison to Harry telling them that he did think of Voldemort at first, but then remembered the Dementor on the Hogwarts Express.

“That suggests that what you fear most is – fear. This is very wise, Harry,”

A minute later, there was a knock on Remus’ office door, and he called their visitor in. Severus entered, holding a faintly smoking goblet and – based on the smell emanating from it – (F/N) deduced that it was Wolfsbane Potion.

However, if Severus had been quick to clap eyes on Harry, he was even quicker about noticing (F/N) sitting there. She greeted him as Remus did, but she could not help wondering what allegations would be thrown at her in the days to come.

“You should drink that directly, Lupin,” said Severus coolly, handing the goblet to Remus.

“Yes, yes, I will,” said Remus, suddenly picking up on the fact that Severus probably didn’t appreciate the sight of the three of them spending elevenses together.

“I made an entire cauldronful, if you need more,” said Severus. (F/N) was, again, surprised to hear this. She considered it likely that Dumbledore had put him up to this (which he had, and Remus knew it, even if others did not), but even so, (F/N) thought it a kind thing for Severus to do. He didn’t _have_ to, after all.

Remus thanked him and said that he should probably take more tomorrow, giving Severus his opportunity to back out of the room. (F/N) did not notice, but Remus did see how the Potions master’s eyes lingered on her a little longer than anyone else.

Harry, ever curious, wanted to know what Snape had given Lupin. (F/N) thought Remus skirted around the issue rather expertly, telling Harry that he had been feeling ‘off-colour’, and that this potion was the only thing that helped. (F/N) could see, though, that Harry did not trust Severus, and the panic in his eyes as Remus began to drink the potion was evident. Clearly, he thought that because Severus wanted the DADA position, he would even poison Remus for it.

(F/N) also did not miss the amusement that flickered across Remus’ face for a brief second, before dismissing the concern with little more than a comment about the potion’s foul flavour. “Well, Harry, we had best be getting back to work. We’ll see you at the feast later,”

Remus clearly meant for (F/N) to stay, so she remained seated and offered Harry a sweet smile as he placed down his cup and bade them goodbye. She watched him go, feeling deeply sorry for him for not being able to go to Hogsmeade, but she hoped he would be all right all the same. She turned back to Remus, who had in turn been watching her.

“Thank you for sitting with us,” he said. “I was looking for you this morning …”

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about me,” said (F/N) lightly. “Not with the moon to think about,”

“Sod the moon,” said Remus roughly. (F/N) had not heard him speak so aggressively before, and wondered if that was the wolf talking. The man seemed to regret his harshness moments later. “… What I mean is, I _always_ worry about you. Now more than ever. How are you holding up?”

“… Well, today was never going to be sunshine and rainbows, was it?” said (F/N), defeatedly. Then, her façade broke, and she crumpled into despair. Remus waved his wand, shut the door, and pulled (F/N) into the fiercest hug he could muster.

Despite his strength bordering on suffocating, being crushed against Remus’ chest actually calmed (F/N) a great deal. She clung desperately to him, as if he would disappear if she let go.

“There is no point in telling you that it will all be okay, and to look to the future when you have been through more than anyone could ever comprehend, but I will always, _always_ be here for you. You do not have to suffer alone – understand?”

(F/N) sighed and nodded against him, feeling so exhausted all of a sudden that she could have fallen asleep in his arms. As her mind grew quiet once more, she listened to the soothing, rhythmic beating of Remus’ heart; it was quite quick, but since she had (obviously) never listened to it before, she thought it could just be normal for him.

Remus, on the other hand, savoured the embrace and let his mind wander to a happier place. The impending full moon notwithstanding, Hallowe’en was not going to be a strictly ‘happy’ affair for him either, because every year since his friends were murdered had been hell on earth. Having (F/N) back was a blessing in every sense of the word, and he hoped she could find the same sort of comfort in his presence as he did in hers.

(F/N) spent the rest of the morning with Remus, helping him plan a few lessons for the following fortnight as he fully expected to be knocked for six once the full moon rose. He stayed with her over lunchtime, walking her to the Hall and sitting next to her as always. He kept her smiling, to the point nobody would have guessed at (F/N)’s sadness. He then accompanied her to Hagrid’s, so that they could spend a couple of hours with him, and make sure he was holding up as well.

The Hallowe’en feast was as good as (F/N) ever remembered it, and felt sorry that she had missed last year’s. Still, she realised that she owed her much-improved mood to Remus, and noted that she would still be holed up in her room by herself if not for his ‘intervention’. She sat between him and Poppy, who chatted away to her with a cheerful innocence that one would attribute to someone earnestly trying to distract a wandering mind.

(F/N) supposed that all of her colleagues would be acutely aware of the significance of this day for her.

At one point, while he was shooting Remus with looks of suspicion and distrust, (F/N) caught Severus’ eye (although neither of them could hold the gaze for very long). It was then that (F/N) thought she had been quite selfish; this year, and last, she had completely overlooked the fact that Severus would hardly consider Hallowe’en a good day, either. Not once had she asked him if he was all right …

But then, nor had he asked her.

The feast concluded with a formation gliding show put on by the school ghosts, and Nearly Headless Nick also performed a re-enactment of his botched beheading, which was very well-received. This put the Gryffindor ghost in a very good mood.

However, spirits did not remain high for very long – _especially_ for the Gryffindors. It wasn’t long before (F/N) found herself rushing towards Gryffindor Tower with Remus and Minerva, meeting Severus along the way, and finding Dumbledore standing in front of the Fat Lady’s portrait with a very sombre look on his face.

The students had cleared the way to the portrait, so (F/N) and her colleagues had a clear view: the Fat Lady was gone, and her picture had been cut to ribbons. Slivers and chunks of canvas littered the floor, and an eerie silence prevailed in the stairwell.

“We need to find her,” said Dumbledore. “Professor McGongall, please go to Mr Filch at once and tell him to search every painting in the castle for the Fat Lady,”

Suddenly, the familiar cackle of Peeves the poltergeist rang out above everyone’s heads. “You’ll be lucky!” he chortled.

“What do you mean, Peeves?” asked Dumbledore calmly, and Peeves was brought under (reasonable) control. At least he respected the Headmaster.

“Ashamed, Your Headship, sir. Doesn’t want to be seen …” said Peeves. He went on to tell Dumbledore – and everyone listening – that he had seen her running through a painting on the fourth floor. (F/N) started, wondering if she was still there and if she might be able to locate the Fat Lady, since that was where she resided.

“Did she say who did it?” said Dumbledore quietly.

“Oh, yes, Professorhead,” said Peeves, sounding as though what he had to say could change the fate of the entire world. “He got very angry when she wouldn’t let him in, you see. Nasty temper he’s got, that Sirius Black,”

There was presently a _lot_ of noise. Dumbledore ordered all of the Gryffindors back to the Great Hall, and then sent Severus and McGonagall to gather the other houses and get them to the Hall as well. Remus managed to excuse himself without anyone – except (F/N) – noticing, in light of the rising moon. The students were all either very excited or utterly terrified, but (F/N) was gobsmacked. She knew Sirius was talented, but how on earth had he managed to infiltrate the castle without anyone seeing him first?

She considered the very real possibility that he had used one of the secret entrances in his Animagus form, but even then that was risky because people would still report a very large black dog roaming the castle. Sirius was not a discreet person, whatever form he took.

(F/N) was watching over the students who were already in the Great Hall, waiting to be told that she could join the other staff in searching the castle. After all, while she had no intention of apprehending Sirius _or_ helping him escape, she also could not be allowed to be seen doing nothing. Dumbledore posted all of the Prefects at the doors to the Hall, putting the Head Boy and Head Girl in charge, but then he turned to (F/N).

“(F/N), I would like you to remain here, please, and keep an eye on the students. The Prefects and Head Boy and Girl will be able to keep the rabble under control, but someone needs to be on hand to look after them, too,”

“Understood, sir, but shouldn’t I swap places with someone a bit later on? That way the students will still be safe, and I can help search,”

“That is kind of you, my dear, but _you_ will be safer here, too,” said Dumbledore, giving her a gentle look. Then, in an undertone, he added, “I know your feelings on the subject of Sirius’ guilt, but it is everyone’s opinion that he is as much a danger to you as he is to Harry …”

(F/N) was about to speak, to argue with him, but she stopped herself. There was no time for this, and she was also not about to voice her very controversial opinions in front of the entire student body (or at least those students who were within earshot).

“Very good, Professor,” said (F/N), at length. Dumbledore was very conscious of how displeased she was, though.

(F/N)’s mood was not the best, after that, but she carried out her duties to the letter. Her mood did not rub off on the students she was guarding; in fact, none of them seemed to notice that she was feeling irritable. There was a lot of excited chatter before everyone settled into the sleeping bags Dumbledore had conjured for them, and one question was bandied around much more frequently than any other: _“How did Black get in?”_

Eventually, (F/N) and the students in charge managed to get everyone else to quieten down and go to sleep. She, like the others, patrolled the Hall and kept watch for any signs of disturbance. All was calm, which (F/N) was pleased about, but around half an hour after bedtime, (F/N) overheard some Slytherins whispering to each other in a corner.

“… I _told_ you there was something funny about her. My father was right. He said she d–,”

“Mr Malfoy, you should be silent, now. Go to sleep,” said (F/N), making the boy jump about half a foot into the air.

“Yes, Professor,” said Draco, with an insolent smirk on his face. (F/N) didn’t know what it was for, or about whom he had been talking, but he did fall silent and close his eyes.

One of (F/N)’s colleagues stopped by every hour to check in on them and make sure all was well. She was standing by the main doors when, at three o’clock, Dumbledore returned to the Hall. He gave (F/N) a gentle, paternal pat on the shoulder as he passed, before looking around for Percy Weasley, the Head Boy. (F/N) and Dumbledore closed the distance between Percy and themselves and stopped, (F/N) noticed, quite close to Harry, Ron and Hermione. They looked to be asleep.

“Any sign of him, Professor?” asked Percy in a nervous whisper.

“No. All well here?”

“Everything under control, sir,”

“Good …” said Dumbledore, before going on to say that everyone would be returned to their respective dormitories in the morning, and that they had found the Fat Lady, along with a temporary replacement for her.

Severus joined them five minutes later, and came to stand opposite (F/N), and between Percy and Dumbledore. “The whole of the third floor has been searched. He’s not there. And Filch has done the dungeons; nothing there, either,”

Dumbledore reeled off a list of other towers Sirius could possibly be hiding in.

“All searched …” said Severus, sneaking a glance at (F/N) that she did not miss.

“Very well, Severus. I didn’t really expect him to linger,”

“Have you any theory as to how he got in, Professor?” asked Severus. _Here we go,_ thought (F/N). It was bound to be either her fault or Remus’ that Sirius managed to infiltrate the castle.

“Many, Severus, each of them as unlikely as the next,” said Dumbledore quietly.

Percy suddenly looked rather excited, but Severus looked angry. The latter spoke again, but was clearly trying to exclude the Head Boy from the conversation. It wasn’t for his ears, after all, but even (F/N) was unaware of its true contents.

“You remember the conversation we had, Headmaster, just before the start of term?”

“I do,” said Dumbledore, with a hint of warning directed at the Potions master.

 _Ah,_ thought (F/N). _He suspects Remus, then._ It was now very clear to her. The comment about speaking to Dumbledore before the start of term was the giveaway; she had been working at Hogwarts an entire year, at that point. Severus obviously didn’t mean her, but her friend. She honestly thought she would have been less offended if Severus had been implying _she_ provided Sirius with inside help.

Remus still thought him guilty, after all. She, on the other hand, knew that Sirius wasn’t. Whether Severus knew her thoughts on the matter was probably instrumental in the formulation of his suspicions, though.

“I do not believe a single person inside this castle would have helped Black enter it,” said Dumbledore. He did not snap, but Severus was under no illusions that this was the end of the discussion. “I must go down to the Dementors. I said I would inform them when our search was complete,”

“Didn’t they want to help, sir?” asked Percy.

(F/N) glanced at the young man, knowing that he could not possibly, _truly_ know what he was asking. Letting the Dementors into Hogwarts proper? It was unthinkable. Dumbledore would never allow it.

The Headmaster confirmed as much, not two seconds later, leaving Percy looking quite embarrassed. Severus watched Dumbledore leave, bitterness blackening his expression, before marching off as well. He gave (F/N) a curt nod before departing, though, and (F/N) supposed that was the very maximum she could expect from him while he was in such a bad mood.

She remained in the Hall the rest of the night, trying to block all unsavoury thoughts from her mind as she guarded the students. A long, high howl rang out across the grounds, reaching the Hall, and she simply _knew_ it was Remus. She hoped he was all right, and that the potion was doing its job. As dawn approached, the enchanted sky changed from clear and starry to bleak and grey, and around daybreak, rain began to fall. By the time the students were beginning to stir, (F/N) was exhausted – as were the Prefects and Head Students on patrol – and rain was lashing the windows as though driven by fury and spite.

The night watch was relieved at quarter to seven, and they all retired to their respective chambers, feeling very ready for a good, long sleep.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A really angsty chapter, but I promise it won't always be like this!

It was difficult to focus on anything over the next few days but the endless chatter about Sirius Black. (F/N), however, had more than just her ‘criminal’ ex-partner to be concerned about. Not only was Remus sicker than usual after his latest transformation, giving her cause to worry about him, but Harry was also now under constant supervision by the entire school staff because of the break-in, and lessons were becoming increasingly challenging due to a variety of factors.

Covering Remus’ lessons was absolutely fine; (F/N) would do anything for her old friend, and had expected this to happen at least a few times while he recovered after each full moon. It was also a rather specific part of her job, and one of the roles Dumbledore had hoped she would play as a teacher. However, it was no easy feat getting _any_ of her students to focus with the current ‘threat’ of Sirius knowing how to get into the school, and this problem was heightened hundredfold in all third-year classes.

Particularly Harry’s.

She also had a new reason to fret about her godson: Quidditch practice in worsening weather conditions. The wind was utterly ferocious, and the rain may as well have turned straight to hail, being as cold and sharp as it was. (F/N) fully expected that the next Quidditch match – Slytherin versus Gryffindor – would be played in one of these terrible storms. This only increased her anxiety when it came to Harry, because he was only a very slight boy, and she could see how the wind might buffet and blow him about while he whizzed around on his broom. His speed, linked directly to his lightweight frame, was part of what made him such an efficient Seeker, after all.

Then there was Draco Malfoy. (F/N) had to try very hard to ignore him, but every time he was in one of her classes, he gave her a sneaky look that suggested he knew something she did not. She thought back to what she had overheard him saying on Hallowe'en, in the Great Hall, and was quite sure she did not need to guess too many times to get to the bottom of what he had been whispering about.

Lucius Malfoy had told his son about her, and now Draco knew about her death. He probably knew a lot more than that, really, but as long as he didn’t know about Harry or Sirius, (F/N) could live with the loss of her ‘secret’, and reasoned that she could probably lie quite convincingly if the young Malfoy decided to broadcast it to the public.

And then she would take the fight to Lucius. Eventually.

As though to add more fuel to her personal fire, (F/N) was passing Remus’ classroom one day and overheard Severus teaching the class instead. She stopped, and put an ear to the door which was standing slightly ajar.

“Which of you can tell me how we distinguish between the werewolf and the true wolf?” said Severus.

(F/N)’s blood ran cold. She knew what he was doing, and the coldness in her veins suddenly turned to angry heat.

Parvati piped up and said, “We told you, we haven’t got as far as werewolves yet, we’re still on –,”

“ _Silence!”_ snapped Severus, making even (F/N), with her cheek inches from the door, jump a little. “Well, well, well, I never thought I’d meet a third-year class who wouldn’t even recognise a werewolf when they saw one …”

(F/N) wanted to burst in there and commandeer the lesson, but she didn’t dare. Not only would that infuriate Severus (she cared much less about this than the flipside of her internal argument), but it could also expose Remus for what he was.

“Please, sir,” said Hermione earnestly, although with a hint of nervousness in her voice. Perhaps Severus had already reprimanded her, or his overall demeanour and tone of voice was off-putting. Or both. Hermione then proceeded to answer the question, but Severus interrupted her.

“That is the second time you have spoken out of turn, Miss Granger. Five more points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all,”

That did it. (F/N) almost didn’t stick around to find out what happened next, but Ron’s voice cutting through the heavy silence kept her rooted to the spot. That didn’t stop (F/N)’s face from burning, or her hands from making painfully tense fists at her sides.

“You asked us a question, and she knows the answer! Why ask if you don’t want to be told?”

He’d gone too far, and (F/N) suspected everyone knew it. (F/N) listened as Severus dished out Ron’s detention, and as he told him that if he ever criticised his teaching methods again he would be sorry. She couldn’t stay any longer, though. She had had enough. Unluckily for Severus, it was Friday, and he would always have his weekly meetings with her on Friday …

Severus walked into her classroom that afternoon, notebook and quill in hand, ready for this meeting. He had been looking forward to seeing her, but as soon as she looked up at him, he knew he was in very big trouble – although the reason for this was unclear to him.

“Are you channelling your inner gorgon? Because I can almost _feel_ myself turning to stone …” he said, taking a seat opposite (F/N), despite the anger radiating from her in waves.

“As well you should,” said (F/N) sharply, ignoring the gorgon comment.

“Why? What have I done now?”

“Your Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson with Remus’ third-years, let’s try that,” (F/N) spat. She felt a trickle of satisfaction run down her spine when Severus’ expression became as stony as she felt.

“What about it?” Severus growled.

“Where – to – _start_ , good _heavens!_ ” said (F/N) sarcastically, slapping the tops of her legs with her palms. Her voice was toxic, and Severus knew he had to defend himself well or be bowled over this time. “So … _werewolves,_ was it?”

“Oh, of _course_ you would be upset about that …” Severus harrumphed. “You truly are his greatest defender, aren’t you? Eternally loyal. Sometimes I wonder who the lapdog really is in your relationship …”

“You are very lucky there is a desk between us, Severus,” said (F/N) darkly, turning the man's blood to ice. “Another comment like that and you will have such a slap coming your way,”

“Did I strike a nerve?” he sneered back.

The door slammed behind him. He knew he was in for it. “Muffliato,” (F/N) growled.

“Oh, good …” Severus sighed, bracing himself.

“How fucking _dare_ you?!” (F/N) all but screamed. “What is your problem?! I don’t expect you to suddenly _like_ Remus, but at least stop trying to give his secret away!”

Severus hadn’t expected her to swear. He also hadn’t expected this sort of volume, even though the spell she had cast suggested that she was going to shout, at least.

“You care too much, I think …”

“You don’t care enough! And how am I supposed to _not_ care about my friend? Why would you make that potion for him – even under the Headmaster’s orders – and then try to get the students to recognise him as … as …”

“Go on, say it,” said Severus. Instead of getting an answer, though, he was forced to use a Shield Charm. When (F/N) had calmed down slightly, he said, “That temper of yours will get you into trouble,”

“Not with you, Severus,” (F/N) seethed. “Not with you,”

“What do you mean?”

“You couldn’t stop me if you tried, and you wouldn’t report me,” she rumbled, staring out of the window at the stormy, late afternoon sky.

Severus knew she was right. (F/N) was aware that Severus knew this, and it irked him that she clearly knew him better than even he did. He glared at her.

“No more about werewolves to the students. Do you hear me?” (F/N) snarled. “If anything, it is his right to teach them. He knows the topic best, of course,”

Severus was glad that (F/N) was not suggesting that the students should not be taught about werewolves at all. It would be a terrible gap in their knowledge, certainly. Still, he could not shake his irritation at (F/N)’s furious defence of the DADA professor, for more than one reason.

“Do you not think it dangerous for a werewolf to be in a _school?”_ Severus asked pointedly.

“Dumbledore would not have him here if it was,” said (F/N). “Besides, isn’t that why he’s making you brew Wolfsbane Potion?”

“Honestly, I’m surprised he didn’t ask you to do it,”

“You’re a much less obvious choice because you hate Remus. And you’re the Potions master, not me,”

“None of this changes what he is. Have you forgotten what nearly happened to me because of him and his stupid friends?” snapped Severus.

“I’ll thank you to remember that his stupid friends were also _my_ stupid friends,” (F/N) barked. “And no, I haven’t forgotten, but surely _you_ haven’t forgotten that it was one of those ‘stupid’ people who saved your life?”

“It was _your_ stupid boyfriend who nearly got me killed in the first place!” shouted Severus.

“ _You_ were my boyfriend when that happened, idiot!” she yelled back. Severus fell silent; the memory was too harsh. (F/N) immediately calmed down. “That’s by the by, anyway … If Remus _had_ hurt you, it would hardly have been his fault, would it?”

“… My point still stands: a school is no place for a werewolf,”

(F/N) sighed in her exasperation. “Dumbledore trusts him. That should be good enough for everyone,”

“It’s not just the fact that he’s a werewolf, you know. He’s Black’s friend. How else do you think he got in the other night?”

“Shut up!” (F/N) cried, making Severus freeze. “You shut up right now! Remus thinks Sirius is guilty. Why on earth would he help him get inside the castle?”

“Who else would?”

“Sirius doesn’t _need_ help,” (F/N) sighed. “Why can’t anyone see that?”

“… You talk about him as if his guilt is a matter of debate,”

“It is,”

Severus paused, and the silence was deadly. “It most certainly is _not,_ ”

“How the hell would you know? Were you there that night?”

Severus didn’t want to answer that, so he didn’t. He couldn’t comment, either, because he neither wanted to relive what he had seen (F/N) suffer, nor did he trust his anger to allow him to say something acceptable and considerate of her as a person.

“Sirius didn’t betray James and Lily. Even though I was _there_ , the Ministry won’t believe me. If they won’t take my word for it, I don’t expect you to. Honestly, I think you would just prefer to ignore whatever I have to say in favour of hating Sirius, Remus and James for all eternity,”

“When have I _ever_ ignored you?” cried Severus, wounded by her barbed, scathing tone of voice. “If anything, you were always the one to ignore _me_ ,”

“When?” said (F/N), repeating the question.

“I told you to run and hide, did I not? And where did you go? Straight to the Potters' …”

“I’ll tell you what, Severus: when you find someone you would die for – someone _else_ you would die for – you’ll understand why I couldn’t just stick my head in the sand,”

The implication stole the air clean out of his lungs. He couldn’t speak for the force with which it had hit him. It all came flooding back – how Voldemort told (F/N) she had never been loved … how Severus had loved Lily more than her … How could she be so cruel as to throw that back at him?

 _Perhaps,_ said a small voice in the back of his mind, _she is hurting more badly than you realise._

(F/N) sat back down behind her desk and leafed through a pile of student books. “Now, on to the next item on my agenda: why on earth are you calling students horrid names?”

Severus blinked twice before responding, so profound was his shock at their previous argument. Now he had to gear himself up for a second, without knowing how to process the first. “She _was_ being an insufferable know-it-all!”

He sounded like a young boy protesting his innocence. (F/N) would not allow herself to feel bad for him. “That sort of remark could crush a child’s self-esteem. I am in no way your superior, but if I _ever_ overhear something like that again there will be hell to pay. Do I make myself clear?”

“I won’t be threatened by you, (F/N),”

“Good, because it’s not a threat: it’s a promise,” said (F/N) with an unsettling smirk. “And Ron was right, by the way. You obviously gave him that detention because you’re too proud to accept when a student has a fair point,”

“I will _not_ allow a student to criticise the way I teach a class!”

“Perhaps not, but I am at perfect liberty to do the same, and so I shall,” said (F/N) coolly. “I must say, if this is how you always treat them, it’s no wonder I’ve been able to single-handedly raise their grades in a single month …”

Severus lurched to his feet, glowering down at (F/N). “Do you honestly think that what you have done in one month is anything close to what I have achieved in twelve _years?”_

“I didn’t realise this was suddenly a competition. You surprise me, Severus; it seems there’s fire in you after all,”

“You are being incredibly trying, (F/N) …”

“Again, that’s good. I don’t want you to think you can get away with whatever you like now that I’m working alongside you. I’ve been playing by your rules, but you really should beware of being outmatched,”

“Are you suggesting that you’re better than me?”

“No, no, you’re missing the point …” said (F/N), sneering at him. Severus knew that sneer – it was the same as the one she wore when she got Patty Nolan expelled. It was the one she wore when she knew she had backed someone into a corner. In a single word, that sneer said, ‘Checkmate’.

All of this had been to prove a point. She wasn’t trying to achieve anything concrete – she was simply showing Severus that she _could_ outmanoeuvre him if she wanted to. This she had accomplished by talking circles around him and getting him flustered. Their first argument of the day had been genuine, but it had flummoxed him enough to wear him down; the second had been to drive the point home: she didn’t think she was better than him, but she was no pushover in spite of her lack of experience.

It was a small prize for her to claim, in light of a greater victory that could have been won if she had decided to argue further, but (F/N) was content with this outcome.

“Are we done?” Severus hissed softly.

“I think so, unless there is anything you would like to raise?” said (F/N) sweetly.

“Yes, actually,” said Severus, suddenly finding his gumption. “There are a lot of very colourful names that I could call _you_ right now, but I, at least, have better manners,”

(F/N) tried not to laugh at him as he turned on his heels and made for the door. “That is an argument I am willing to lose. I am not so unladylike that I can’t recognise my own flaws,”

Severus paused with his hand on the door knob, then turned back to glare at her with his smouldering black eyes. “You are such a …”

(F/N)’s eyebrows slid up her forehead, egging him on. Severus flung open the door and stormed off. She sat there at her desk, staring at the now-open door, suddenly feeling very alone.

The first argument resurfaced in her mind. She had only meant to defend Remus, but it had gone too far in the other direction. She didn’t appreciate the insinuation that they were in a romantic relationship, because she had overheard a few students gossiping about that in the corridors before, but she certainly hadn’t meant to start attacking Severus, and telling him he didn't know what it felt like to _need_ to protect someone with your life. She hadn’t meant to remind him so keenly of the past, either.

But then, she supposed, he had once again done nothing to diffuse the situation, and he didn’t seem to recognise that memories of the past caused her an agony that she was sure he could at least _partly_ understand. She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, listening to the rain lashing against the window.

(F/N) was no longer sure if this was natural weather, or if she was still, somehow, controlling it.

Back in his quarters, Severus slammed the door and threw his notebook and quill down upon the nearest flat surface. He marched into his bedroom and, in his fury, kicked the nightstand as hard as he could.

Why could (F/N) not understand that he didn’t _try_ to upset her? Why could she not see that he still cared? He sat down on the edge of his bed and ran his hand through his raven hair. He began to shake and, before he knew it, he began to cry. At this rate, he and (F/N) would never even be civil again, but he didn’t know how to change that. Every little thing they did seemed to give displeasure to the other.

More than anything, Severus wished he could go back in time, just to enjoy one last, carefree hour with the two best friends he had ever had.

Little did he realise, (F/N) also wished she could go back to a simpler time, when everyone was alive and happy, and they were all still friends. A solitary, exhausted tear rolled down her cheek as she stared at the grey sky beyond her classroom window.

The next day, (F/N) realised that there was one (very strange) thing to cheer her up: Gilderoy Lockhart was no longer at Hogwarts, and no Quidditch players were in danger of losing their bones or limbs to any of his ridiculous ‘remedies’. She kept this in mind as she traipsed through the mud towards the Quidditch pitch on the rainy, blustery, thundery day of the Slytherin-Gryffindor match.

As she climbed into the teachers’ box, however, Minerva tugged on her sleeve to get her to sit beside her, underneath the enormous umbrella that she had conjured for herself and Pomona. There was more than enough room for another person, so (F/N) tucked herself in on the bench and huddled with her colleagues. Such simple magic was brilliant, because it meant that _their_ umbrella, at least, would not blow away in the squall.

“Slytherin cannot play today, on account of their Seeker’s wounded arm,” said Minerva above the howling wind and relentless rain, studying (F/N)’s face for her reaction.

“Oh, poppycock,” said (F/N), rolling her eyes. “I’ve caught Draco Malfoy making all sorts of creative gestures with that arm; there’s nothing wrong with him,”

“We know, and Poppy knows it, too. But what can we do?” Minerva sighed. “It’s Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff now, anyway,”

“Ah well, I suppose we'll get a fair game, then,” said (F/N), without thinking. She quickly clapped a hand over her mouth, just as Pomona and Minerva burst out laughing.

“Quite!” said Pomona through her giggles. “But it’s a good job Severus is sitting on the other side of the pitch with the Headmaster today, hm?”

(F/N) couldn’t help smiling, although the turn the conversation had taken reminded her (quite painfully) of her fight with Severus the day before. She had nothing against Slytherin – she had been close friends with Severus, once upon a time, and she had once been his lover; one of her closest friends (Edith) had also been in Slytherin. She had almost been placed in that house herself. However, the current line-up for the Slytherin Quidditch team was, quite possibly, the trickiest bunch of cheats she had ever seen. Not even Avery and Mulciber were _this_ dishonest.

 _No,_ she thought bitterly, _they brazenly did whatever they pleased, whenever they cared to, and never hid it from anyone._

Eventually, both teams staggered out onto the pitch. (F/N) could just about see the Gryffindors, but the Hufflepuffs were far more visible in their canary-yellow robes compared to Gryffindor’s scarlet ones. The team captains – Wood and Diggory – shook hands before Madam Hooch raised her hand and obviously told everyone to mount their brooms, because they all did just that. (F/N) watched with increasing apprehension as Harry rose into the air, a little unsteadily because of the wind, and then as he flew up and down the pitch searching for the Snitch.

Twice (F/N) thought she was going to be sick, because Harry almost got hit by a Bludger that many times. It was clear to her that he couldn’t see because of the rain, and that was also likely to be the reason he had near-misses with two other players. The sky was getting darker, and the rain was falling thicker and faster than ever. It truly was a horrifically challenging match.

There was a flash of lightning, and Minerva felt (F/N) tense up next to her. Wood called for timeout. They all watched as both teams took shelter for a couple of minutes, but (F/N)’s eyes were trained on Harry and the other Gryffindors. He was waving his glasses about, proving (F/N) correct in her assumption that the boy couldn’t see where he was going.

However, Hermione suddenly popped up next to him, and pointed her wand at his glasses before rushing off again. The Gryffindors – even at this distance – looked much happier all of a sudden, and then the game was back on.

More thunder and lightning. (F/N) prayed that someone – preferably Harry, but his safety was more important to her than winning the match – would soon catch the Golden Snitch. But then, Harry stopped - (F/N) followed his gaze, because to her, it didn’t seem like a normal pause for a Seeker to make. At least, every other time Harry had stopped to survey the pitch, he hadn’t been looking at the stands in abject horror …

It fled almost as quickly as (F/N) turned to look, but the shape of an enormous black dog could definitely be seen in the stands on the other side of the pitch. She supposed it could have been a trick of the (very poor) light, but something in her gut told her it was not …

Harry’s hands slipped on his broom handle and his Nimbus Two Thousand dropped, making (F/N)’s heart catch in her throat. He recovered himself remarkably, but straight away he spotted Cedric Diggory below, streaking after the Snitch. Harry pressed his body low to his broom and darted after them, but it was at that moment that everything started to go wrong – at least, more wrong than it already had been going …

At least a hundred Dementors had glided onto the pitch, and several of them were looking at Harry. It happened in an instant, but he looked back at them and, almost as if someone had snapped their fingers, he was falling from his broom. Dumbledore, on the other side of the pitch, broke his fall with a spell, but (F/N) was too frantic to care for anything other than that her godson had made a safe landing. She was up out of her seat, making a mad dash for the stairs, and then haring across the filthy stadium towards Harry, who was now lying in the muck.

Without thinking, (F/N) – and several other teachers who had joined her on the pitch – cast Expecto Patronum as powerfully as they possibly could. (F/N), in her desperation to simply get rid of the Dementors, did not cast a corporeal Patronus on this occasion, but that was not her concern. The Dementors fled the large, white wall of positive energy, enough for (F/N) – and Dumbledore – to run right up to where Harry lay upon the sodden, muddy grass.

“Oh good heavens …” (F/N) gasped, a hand over her heart when she saw that her godson was alive and – seemingly – unhurt. “That gave me such a fright …” No one could hear her, though, so when Dumbledore conjured a stretcher for Harry, she checked him over for immediate injuries, and then ran on ahead to prepare Poppy for the arrival of a new patient.

“Poppy! Poppy, are you here?” she called out as soon as she entered the ward. Poppy came rushing out and, upon seeing Harry enter a minute later, completely overlooked the mud that had been dragged in with them.

“Good grief, what happened to him?” she asked, briskly indicating to which bed they should transfer Harry.

“Dementors … on the Quidditch pitch …” (F/N) gasped, fighting to regain her breath. “He must have fallen about fifty feet …”

“He will be all right, (F/N), do not fret,” said Dumbledore calmly, although that furious fire that he only got when he was truly livid burned in his bright blue eyes. “I must go and deal with the situation properly, but you are welcome to stay and help Poppy, I am sure,”

“Yes, sir,” said (F/N) tearfully. She honestly thought she had been about to lose Harry. It was fortunate that Dumbledore had been there, because in her terror, (F/N) had completely frozen. She felt so ashamed …

Poppy made her feel better by putting her to work, and making her feel useful again. The Gryffindor team eventually trooped onto the ward to see Harry, and they all looked just as terrified and confused as (F/N) felt.

“Is he alive?” asked Angelina, peering at Harry with dark, wet eyes.

Just as she said this, Ron and Hermione came tearing into the hospital wing as well, looking as though they had just taken a bath while fully dressed. Hermione was in tears and Ron looked beside himself with worry. There was nothing for it, though, but to reassure them all that Harry would be fine – even though (F/N) was just as concerned as they were – and wait until he woke up.

“Hufflepuff won …” she later overheard Katie saying. “Diggory caught the Snitch before he even realised what was going on. He tried to call off the match, but they won fair and square,”

“Poor Oliver’s not taking it too well, huh?” said Angelina sadly.

“I just hope Harry’s going to be okay,” said George. “Look at him, he’s white as a sheet,”

“He won’t be happy about his broom, either …” said Ron mournfully. “We’re still waiting to find out how much damage the Whomping Willow did …”

As it turned out, the Whomping Willow had completely destroyed Harry’s beloved broomstick. Filius brought its shattered remains back in a bag after retrieving it from the violent old tree, but it was quite evidently beyond repair. (F/N) was devastated _for_ Harry, knowing how much he loved to play Quidditch, and now he had nothing to fly on.

She strongly considered buying him a new one, but Poppy reminded her that, although Minerva had bought him his first, receiving such a gift from her might be construed as suspicious.

“What if it was an anonymous gift? Like last Christmas?” asked (F/N).

“As if you would be able to keep _that_ a secret,” Poppy pointed out, although it was with deep fondness that she said it. (F/N) eventually conceded that she was right.

Harry had almost completely recovered by the end of the weekend. Poppy kept him in for the duration, but she was quite content to let (F/N) take care of him (after her repeated insistences that she be allowed to do it). The only time she left was to meet with Remus, as usual, but even then it was only to update him on Harry’s progress and make sure _he_ was doing fine after his rough transformation. Remus noticed (F/N)’s absentmindedness and felt deeply sorry for her, yet grateful that she had taken time to come and check on him, too.

Otherwise, (F/N) slept in her old room just off the main ward, refusing to leave until Harry did. Even then, she barely slept at all.

On Sunday evening, Harry stopped her while she was propping him up with a fresh pillow, and asked if he could talk to her about something.

“Of course, Harry. What’s troubling you?” she said, sitting down on the edge of his bed.

“Why do Dementors affect me so badly?”

(F/N) searched his face, but tried to ignore his Lily-green eyes. “Because Dementors feed on every good memory, every happy feeling a person might have, and they revel in decay and despair. They drain peace, hope, happiness and comfort out of the air around them until you’re left with nothing but cold misery. Even Muggles can feel them, even though they can’t see them. They affect you worse than most because there are horrors in your past that others don't have. It is not a sign of weakness, Harry – Dementors are some of the foulest creatures on earth, and I believe kinder entities exist in Hell,”

“So, is that why … when they get near me … I can hear Voldemort murdering my mum?”

(F/N) was nearly sick in her mouth. She looked away from him for a moment, scrunched her eyes shut, and then turned back to him when she was sure she wasn’t going to burst into tears. She had not expected that. How could he remember …?

“You poor, sweet thing…” she whispered. Then, continuing in a hushed voice, she said, “Well, the answer is yes. Dementors will feed on every happy memory you have until you’re left with only your worst experiences. Considering all that you have been through in life, I’m not surprised they affect you so severely,”

Harry nodded sombrely.

“Listen, Harry: you’re stronger than you realise. I challenge anyone to live the life you’ve lead so far, and not feel the way you do when Dementors are near. You are not weak; Dementors are predators, and they are merciless. But you will best them one day - I guarantee it,”

He gave her a small smile. “Thank you, Professor,”

“You are most welcome,” she replied, feeling something catch in her throat. “And, if all else fails, just think of them as big, stupid-looking bin bags instead, yes?”

That cheered Harry up considerably, and he let out a genuine laugh. (F/N) smiled, but she found herself in Remus’ office later that evening once Harry had returned to Gryffindor Tower. She broke down in tears almost instantly, and when Remus sank to the floor with her to cuddle her where she knelt, she blurted, in her misery, what Harry had told her.

“I … don’t know what to say to that …” he whispered, clutching her harder. “That poor boy …”

“Oh my god, Remus … What must he be dealing with? And I can’t help him … I can’t help him because then I’ll have to explain what happened to all of us, and why we haven’t been there, and I’ll have to tell him about Sirius …”

“(F/N), you won’t have to say _anything_ about Sirius,” said Remus gently. “It’s best if he doesn’t know the whole truth just yet,”

“But he’s his _godfather_ …”

“He lost the right to that title when he did what he did. You are worthy of being his godmother, and you can do enough for two,”

“Remus, he didn’t do it … It wasn’t Sirius …” she wept into his shoulder.

“What do you mean?”

“He didn’t betray them …” she sniffled.

Remus had no idea whether to ask more questions or to point out that she had to be exhausted, so he tried a mixture of both. “I don’t think now is the right time to be discussing this, do you? You’re absolutely drained. You should get some sleep,”

(F/N) wasn’t sure if he believed her or not, but she accepted his words regardless. “All right …” she said, at length. “Thank you for putting me straight, as always,”

“Anytime,” he replied.

“Perhaps you could talk to Harry about his Dementor problem?” she suggested, standing up with him. “I’m sure he’d appreciate it - he looks up to you. Plus, you’re his _actual_ Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher,”

“And you’re not?” asked Remus teasingly.

“You teach them more often than I do,” she said, with a weary smile and bloodshot eyes.

Remus took (F/N)’s request to heart; thus, when Harry eventually came by and asked him about Dementors too, and specifically about fighting them, the DADA professor took the opportunity to tell Harry that he would do his best to teach him how to ward the creatures off.

However, Harry would have to wait until the new term started, for Christmas was almost upon them, and Remus had a lot of work to do.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone!
> 
> So, I've had a few comments recently from folks who don't like certain pairings. I completely understand this, and don't expect everyone to be a fan of every character.
> 
> However, I want to give those of you who only like maybe one or two pairings a fair chance to dodge this, because it's going to happen and I don't want you to be unprepared.
> 
> It's up to you how far ahead you skip, if you choose to do so, but I can't guarantee there won't be plot in there as well. The end of this chapter will explore this, and so will Chapter 20, although I'm not currently certain of just how much.
> 
> Consider yourselves warned!

(F/N) was looking forward to Christmas. She had spent the last few festive holidays with her parents, but this year, she was staying at Hogwarts with her colleagues, most of whom were much more like friends or, in some cases, adopted aunts and uncles.

With only three weeks left of term, (F/N) had completed all of her shopping and had even wrapped all of her presents. However, she once again made special baked sweets for Harry, and intended to have them delivered anonymously by owl.

The entirety of Hogsmeade _and_ Hogwarts still seemed to be on high alert and on the lookout for Sirius. Knowing he was innocent, (F/N) couldn’t help feeling desperately sorry for him because he would be spending Christmas alone and as a fugitive. Of course, he would have spent the last twelve Christmases alone, but she seriously doubted whether prisoners had any concept of the passage of time inside the walls of Azkaban, so public holidays would hardly be on their radar either.

Instead of dwelling on it (because she had no idea where Sirius could be, besides), (F/N) immersed herself in helping her colleagues prepare for the holidays. In particular, she busied herself with assisting Remus in making arrangements for the new term and, indeed, those to follow.

“That way, you won’t have to think about who will cover your lessons after each full moon,” (F/N) had told him cheerfully.

Remus had found himself sinking deeper and deeper into adoration for (F/N). She never flinched when it came to helping others, but he didn’t even need to ask her, these days. She always seemed to be on hand, and he couldn’t ever find the right words to express his gratitude. Nothing seemed too much bother, and it did more than take the pressure off.

(F/N)’s good mood hit a snag during the last week of term, though. While everyone was getting into the festive spirit, and even strict people like Minerva were beginning to let their hair down, (F/N) found herself feeling apprehensive and agitated thanks to the sudden materialisation of the Minister for Magic. Naturally, he was there to check on the state of things and see how the Dementors were getting on, but (F/N) couldn’t help feeling intensely bitter towards him after their confrontation during the summer.

Even worse than Fudge being there at all, he also managed to boot (F/N) out of Christmas drinks with Minerva, Hagrid and Filius – albeit indirectly. Hagrid had come to warn (F/N) that Fudge would be joining them on their trip to The Three Broomsticks and, deciding she would rather not argue with the Minister over Sirius’ innocence in front of a pub full of people who believed him guilty, she disguised her annoyance from her (very apologetic) friend, and went to find Remus instead.

“You really don’t like the Minister, do you?” Remus chuckled, passing (F/N) a steaming cup of cocoa. (F/N) thanked him, but didn’t answer his question, knowing he would probably never truly understand the reason for her dislike of Cornelius Fudge.

“Right now, I’m more pissed off about not being able go with them to Rosmerta’s,” said (F/N) sullenly. Remus laughed again, and sat down beside her with his own hot drink. They enjoyed a period of blissful silence, watching the snow fall past the window, before Remus decided to break it with a soft interjection.

“I overheard Professor Sinistra and Madam Pince talking the other day, just before Fudge arrived,”

“Oh yes?” said (F/N) interestedly, taking a sip of cocoa.

“They mentioned Sirius, of course …” said Remus carefully. “It reminded me of what you said before … You know, just after Hallowe’en?”

(F/N) remembered how, in a fit of misery, she had told Remus that Sirius hadn’t committed the crimes that got him locked up in Azkaban. She made a low sound in her throat to indicate her memory of this conversation, and Remus continued.

“Well, like I said, it just reminded me. I suppose that will be why Fudge is here,”

“Of course it is,” said (F/N) mirthlessly. “It would be his finest hour, being the one in charge when Sirius is recaptured,”

“He was also the one in charge when he escaped, though,” Remus pointed out.

“Yes, but he’ll do everything in his power to make sure that’s not the bit everyone remembers,” said (F/N) cynically. “Anyway, we’re getting off-topic … You were saying you overheard Irma and Aurora talking?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to hearing their first names,” said Remus with a short sigh. “But yes, I did, and they were saying it’s a good job Harry isn’t allowed into Hogsmeade, because the Dementors are swarming all over it, and with Sirius closer at hand than ever, it would be extremely dangerous …”

(F/N) went silent. She couldn’t refute the wisdom that Harry should stay inside the castle to keep away from the Dementors, certainly, but she knew Sirius posed no threat to him. Perhaps Harry himself was unaware of that, but (F/N) was acutely aware, and Sirius would know that, too.

“What’s on your mind?” asked Remus tentatively.

“… I hate his aunt and uncle,” she whispered bitterly.

“Why?”

“For not signing his form. For _obviously_ mistreating him …”

Remus turned to face her properly and smiled in an amused sort of way. “You think they mistreat him because they wouldn’t give permission for him to go to Hogsmeade?”

“Of _course_ that's not the only reason,” said (F/N) indignantly. “You can see it in his face when he talks about them. And who in their right mind would allow someone to insult a child's dead parents? Especially when one of the parents was their own _sister?”_

Remus had to admit that (F/N) was right, at least on that point. “Well, perhaps they don’t treat him as they ought to, but at least he’s safe …” he said. (F/N) breathed out heavily through her nose and nodded. “That brings me to another point, actually …”

(F/N) looked at him sharply, giving Remus the impression that she already knew what he was going to say.

“You’re … not planning to sign his permission slip for him, are you?”

“No! Why on earth would you ask such a thing?”

Remus held up his hands in surrender. “ _I_ wouldn’t. Some of the other staff have mentioned it, though. They’re concerned that you pity Harry and would give permission for him to go, and undermine his aunt and uncle …”

(F/N)’s cheeks were pink and her eyes were bright with hurt. “First of all, let’s get one thing straight: I may be Harry’s godmother, but I am not his appointed guardian. I don’t even know if they would accept my signature if I provided it …”

Remus felt sick; he was sure he was in for a telling-off, something he had never wanted to receive from (F/N).

“Secondly, it’s very hurtful that people seem to think I would disobey Dumbledore, and permit Harry to go somewhere he says is dangerous. _I_ may not think it so, apart from the Dementors, but I would never defy the Headmaster when it comes to student safety,”

Remus wanted to shrivel up and hide. He had known (F/N)’s anger would be quite easy to provoke when it came to Harry, but he had hoped to broach the subject in a manner that wouldn’t upset her …

“Lastly, has everyone forgotten that I’m struggling with hiding myself from my godson? I want to tell him who I am _so badly,_ but signing his permission form would be questionable, I’m sure, and it wouldn’t take him long to narrow down the suspects. Then what would I do? I’ve got enough to apologise for already, without having to explain why I haven’t been in his life, and without having to tell him about his parents and Sirius and _you,_ among other things …”

Remus hadn’t thought of that. Harry had no inkling that he had known his parents as well as he did. Questions were sure to arise – questions Remus was not sure he could answer.

“(F/N), I’m so sorry … I didn’t mean to upset you …”

(F/N) waved off the apology. “It’s not your fault,” she said. “Honestly, I appreciate being told, rather than talked about behind my back,”

“I don’t think they meant it like that …”

“There is enough about my life to speculate on and surmise about already, without people questioning my loyalty to this school,” said (F/N) coolly. “Whether it's benevolent or not, gossiping about your allies is not a wise move, or so one would hope,”

It was Remus’ turn to fall silent. He did not know what else to say. In fact, he wished he hadn’t said anything in the first place. (F/N) had been in a bad mood already, and now he had added to it by telling her something she didn’t need to know. Of _course_ she wasn’t going to undermine Dumbledore – how could anyone think she would? Her other reasons notwithstanding, placing herself under suspicion at a time like this was not a move that an ex-Auror would make.

(F/N) leaned back into her chair and took another deep breath through her nose. She then took a very determined swig of cocoa, closed her eyes, then reopened them to fix Remus with a very different look to the one she had worn before, almost as if she had reset herself.

“Anyway, let’s have less of that, shall we? Let’s talk about you – how are you feeling at the moment?” she asked, quite quickly. She was trying very hard to restrain her aggression after that last conversation.

“N-not too bad, thank you,” said Remus nervously, worried that (F/N) was still annoyed beneath her disturbingly calm exterior. “Professor Trelawney tried to read my fortune for me the other day … I didn’t let her, of course …”

“No doubt she would say your condition will be the death of you, somehow,” said (F/N) derisively. She had heard nothing from her colleagues about Sybill Trelawney except tales of her nearly constant predictions and premonitions of people’s deaths. If they were true, however, (F/N) supposed her gift was a very grim one indeed – she knew, from living with the knowledge of how _she_ would die, that it was a very heavy burden to bear. Still, that did not mean she could stomach the thought of anyone predicting the death of another dear friend …

Remus chuckled lightly. “Possibly, but I think she’s rather preoccupied with ominous portents for Harry right now,” he said, earning another grimace from (F/N). He couldn’t help wondering, at that moment in time, whether a lot more was swirling around inside her head to make her so irritable. “I just didn’t want her to find out about my little problem,”

(F/N) smiled at him, the first genuine one she had been able to muster in what felt like days. “It’s only a problem if you let it become one,” she said gently. “For what it’s worth, I know it must be horrific for you, but you’re doing really well in managing it,”

“It’s the potion Severus makes, I assure you …”

“You’re telling me it wouldn’t be easier to just let things play out as they always had, _before_ you started working here?”

“It would hurt a lot more, but … yes, I suppose you’re right,”

“I knew you’d see sense,” said (F/N) with a wink. Remus blushed hotly. “I see how you gag nearly every time you drink that stuff,”

“Well, maybe old Sluggy’s favourite little inventor will come up with a solution for me. Maybe she’ll even find a cure,”

(F/N)’s eyes began to glitter and she grinned. Remus instantly felt guilty for having put the idea in her head, knowing there was no cure for what ailed him.

“No, no, it was just a joke, (F/N) …”

“So what? Many a true word is said in jest, after all,” she replied, positively beaming.

“(F/N), there isn’t a cure …”

“Then I’ll damn well create one, won’t I?”

Remus bit his lip and stared at her. She looked so happy, all of a sudden, and he was loath to continue to argue with her in case it sullied that bright new mood of hers. “You are a funny creature, (F/N) Castor,”

“No more funny than you, Remus Lupin. A real freak of nature, you are,”

Remus stared at her. (F/N) stared right back. They both burst into laughter.

“Oh dear …” said (F/N), wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “Well, I suppose I’d better be off … I’ve got a few new presents to wrap, and some letters to write,”

“Then I bid you safe travels, Miss,” said Remus, standing up with her.

“I’m only going upstairs,” she laughed. “Thank you for the drink, Moony. You always know how to cheer up this old sourpuss,”

“Don’t be silly,” said Remus, smiling. “It’s not like you’ve had it easy,”

“That’s no excuse to take my bad moods out on people. But you really are a miracle drug. Maybe write me a prescription?”

Remus’ smile turned to a grin, but (F/N) couldn’t help watching as his ears turned slightly red.

“Oh no, that sounded like a pickup line, didn’t it?” she said, blushing with him.

“Maybe, but it’s okay. We can overlook it,” he said, but (F/N) definitely detected a trace of amusement in his voice. She hugged him goodbye, told him she would see him later, and left with a smile.

By the time she got back to her room, she had a conversation she had once had with Lily swirling around in her head, about Remus and Sirius.

 _“_ _I suppose Remus is cute. I mean, he’s sweet, and a lot kinder than I gave him credit for. He’s clever. I just feel so bad for him with his condition,”_

She had gone on to say a lot more, and of course had developed feelings for Sirius a short while later. But now, (F/N) realised, despite how passionately she could defend his innocence, she was still obscenely angry with him for accusing her of having an affair with Remus.

Remus had never hurt her. She didn’t believe he ever would. For all his troubles, he always seemed to have time for hers, too. He was sweet, kind and clever, just as she had told her best friend all those years ago.

(F/N) shook her head. She felt … funny. Seeking a distraction, she looked around for parchment and a fresh bottle of ink – she had found a bottle of sparkly, festive red ink at Dervish and Banges, and thought it would be perfect for her Christmas letters. She sat down to begin writing, and put all other thoughts from her mind – for now.

Unbeknown to her, however, she had much to be glad about for not being in Hogsmeade that afternoon. Fudge had regaled Rosmerta, Minerva, Filius and Hagrid with the tale of Sirius’ ‘betrayal’, his subsequent ‘crimes’ and his arrest, and Hagrid had got himself quite worked up over it. Minerva told (F/N) all about it next day, making (F/N)’s stomach drop as she listened.

“Oh, he got ever so upset …” said Minerva, peering at (F/N) over the rim of her square spectacles. She had come by to visit her after dinner, mostly because she had felt guilty about her exclusion from their outing. “It’s a wonder he didn’t attract the attention of the entire pub …”

(F/N) frowned. She knew how bad those memories made Hagrid feel, but she hadn’t expected to hear about him having an emotional breakdown in The Three Broomsticks. “Well, shame on the Minister for bringing it up …” she said.

Minerva was surprised, but she supposed (F/N)’s lack of fondness for the Minister was justified, although she may not have known the exact ins and outs of that. “Perhaps he wasn’t expecting such a reaction,” she replied reasonably. “He probably knew it would be upsetting, but not _quite_ so. I had to intervene when Hagrid almost namedropped you, though …”

(F/N) felt her pulse slow down, but replayed what Minerva had just said: she had stepped in to prevent Hagrid from mentioning her. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I know how he feels about what happened, but I could really do without more students knowing that I was actually dead until not too long ago,”

“ _More_ students?”

“Yes … Draco Malfoy knows. His father must have told him, after he spotted me last summer,”

Minerva’s face drained of colour and she swallowed hard. “If Malfoy knows, then so do his friends. That boy will not keep quiet if he thinks he has something to gain,”

(F/N) smirked and gave a short huff of laughter. “Well, if he thinks he has something to gain right now, he is in for a rude awakening. There is no reward for telling people who and what I am,”

“Not for Draco, perhaps, but for his father, there may be,”

(F/N) shuddered. “I wouldn’t like to imagine what that could be,” she said. “Probably just my second downfall. I doubt he’s forgotten the number of run-ins we ever had when I was an Auror,”

Minerva smiled. “You probably just make him uncomfortable. You know who and what _he_ is, and you know what he did all those years ago. He likely thinks you have the power and influence to expose him,”

“Unless he does something even remotely terrorist, I have no interest in him. If using his son to spy on me or spread rumours is his game, he would do well to find a new hobby,”

As it happened, when (F/N) went to visit Hagrid that evening, she found herself with another reason to hate Lucius Malfoy’s guts. Hagrid tearfully told (F/N) that Harry and his friends had been down to visit him earlier, and although they were going to help him, and he was allowed to keep his job, he had received a letter to say that Buckbeak – the hippogriff who attacked Draco – was being put on trial in April. It completely washed her mind of any questions about Fudge’s storytelling from the night before.

“Oh, Hagrid …” (F/N) gasped, patting his arm gently as he began to sob anew. “Hagrid, I’m sure it’ll be all right … Listen, I’ll help too; I _raised_ a hippogriff. You could argue that I know them better than anyone – besides you, of course. I’ll even come to the hearing with you,”

Hagrid heaved a great sigh and sniffed. “Thanks, (F/N), but I just can’ let yeh …”

“Why not?”

“Ministry arrested yeh las’ summer, didn’t they? I’m not puttin’ yeh in danger again,”

“Hagrid, surely that factor alone makes this my decision, no?”

“Yer a sweet girl, (F/N), but no. I won’ give them psychos a chance ter get near yeh again. No way,”

“Then at least help me plan a defence for Buckbeak, like Harry, Ron and Hermione are doing. They’ll be doing the research, I’m sure, but I’ve got raw experience. _Please_ let me help you, Hagrid,”

Hagrid thought about it carefully, glancing over at Buckbeak, who was now snoozing in one corner of the hut, basking in the warmth of the fire. Snow was still falling outside, and the school grounds were thick with the stuff; (F/N) was aware of how soft Hagrid was on his creatures, so it came as no surprise that the hippogriff was living like the gamekeeper’s boarhound at that moment in time.

“All righ’ …” said Hagrid at length. “Thank yeh, (F/N) … I appreciate it,”

“Anytime, old friend. I’ll see what I can do,”

She bade him good evening ten minutes later, and set off again across the grounds. The tracks she had made on her way to Hagrid’s had almost completely filled in already, but she could just about see them, so she followed them back to the castle. It was bitterly cold, and all she wanted was to have a hot shower and climb into bed. She would start working on Buckbeak’s defence tomorrow, when she didn’t have brain-freeze.

***

Once the majority of Hogwarts' students had gone home for the Christmas holidays, the castle became incredibly quiet. The calm only served to make the decorations seem all the more brilliant and ethereal in their beauty. There were mysterious lights emanating from every suit of armour, and streamers of holly and mistletoe as far as the eye could see. In the Great Hall were the usual twelve Christmas trees, lavishly adorned with gold stars. The smell of cooking wafting up from the kitchens made (F/N)’s mouth water every time she descended from the fourth floor, and she found herself eager for Christmas Day to arrive.

On Christmas Eve, however, she was approached by Filius at breakfast, who seemed abuzz with excitement.

“We’re having a little get-together tonight for the staff only …” he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Then, in an undertone, he added, “... Sans Fudge,”

(F/N) grinned broadly. They obviously felt bad for leaving her out before, although it was hardly anybody’s fault. “That sounds splendid!” she said, beaming wider still. “What time, and where?”

“Seven o’clock at The Three Broomsticks again,” said Filius. “Rosmerta insisted,”

(F/N) chuckled. “Of course she did,”

Feeling rather excited as well, now, (F/N) returned to her quarters to begin preparing for the evening ahead. Before heading up to the fourth floor, though, she decided to stop by the second, and see if Remus was around. It was two days from the next full moon, and she wanted to make sure he was holding up.

She knocked on the door and waited. (F/N) didn’t even hear him come to the door, but it opened suddenly in front of her and she jumped in surprise.

“Oh, hello, (F/N),” he said, smiling down at her. He looked incredibly tired, but his eyes were very green, and brighter than usual. A tingle crackled its way up (F/N)’s spine – the only way to describe his eyes, at that very moment, was ‘wolfish’. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Oh, I, er … just came by to see if you were doing okay,” she said, tripping over her words and suddenly feeling very foolish.

“Not too bad, thank you,” Remus replied gently, his eyes softening. “I appreciate you coming to ask …”

“No problem … Hey, um … Are you coming to the Christmas party tonight?”

Remus gave her a funny little smile and his cheeks became tinged with pink. “Uh, no, unfortunately not … Professor Dumbledore caught me early this morning and asked, but …”

“The moon’s affecting you, isn’t it?” said (F/N), trying to hide her disappointment. She understood completely, though. It was no different to asking anyone else to a party when they were feeling under the weather.

“Only a little right now,” he said. “I imagine it will be worse later, though. The pull of the Cold Moon has always been strong …”

“December’s always worse? How come?” she asked without thinking. Seeing how much he blushed then, (F/N) wished she hadn’t.

“I’m … not sure. Last full moon of the year? Unless we get a blue moon, of course …”

“Sheesh, as if twelve transformations weren’t enough, sometimes you get thirteen. You poor thing …”

“I’m used to it,” said Remus awkwardly, glad to be talking about anything except the reason the Cold Moon affected him so much.

A very strange silence fell between them. Noticing it, (F/N) piped up with a sudden idea. “Listen, if you can’t make it tonight, how about I come and visit you later? I don’t like the thought of you spending Christmas Eve on your own while we’re all out having a good time …”

Remus smiled softly at her and nodded. “I’d like that. But don’t cut your evening short because of me, all right?”

“If I don’t cut it short, you might end up seeing me at stupid o’clock in the morning, and then where would we be?” she giggled.

“I can cope with stupid,” said Remus, a wry grin forming on his face.

“You have for many years. Your patience is second to none,” said (F/N), grinning back. With that, she told him she would see him later, and left him to his own devices. She went to her room, planned her outfit (white jeans and a pretty blouse), then decided to head for Hogsmeade to get a few supplies for when she visited Remus after the party. She was thinking of Honeydukes, and buying a bunch of sweets and snacks since Remus definitely preferred sweets over savouries. She then put her head around the door of The Three Broomsticks to say hello to Rosmerta, partly because she didn’t want their first meeting to be in front of all of her colleagues, but also because she was going to buy drinks to take with her to the ‘afterparty’.

“(F/N)?! Is that really you?!” shrieked the landlady, who stopped what she was doing immediately. She came clattering over to (F/N) in her glittering, turquoise heels much faster than would ever have been advisable. She threw her arms around her and squeezed so hard that (F/N) thought she would burst.

“Hello, Rosmerta,” said (F/N), hugging her back as best she could. “How have you been?”

“Livid about you staying holed up in that castle, and not coming to see me after all these years!” cried the older witch. “Oh, when I heard what happened to you …”

“It’s okay, it’s all in the past now,” said (F/N). “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry I haven’t been to visit before now …”

“Don’t be such a silly sausage!” said Rosmerta, pulling (F/N) over to the bar. “I was only teasing. You had a perfectly good reason for staying up there, or so I’m told …”

“Has Hagrid been gossiping again?” said (F/N) with a grin.

Rosmerta went a funny shade of fuchsia and nodded apologetically. “After hours, though, I promise. No one knows but old Rosmerta,”

(F/N) smiled again, knowing Rosmerta was like a protective aunt to those she liked.

“So, what can I do for you, my darling?”

“Well, I’ll be along for the staff party later, but I was wondering if I could get a few bottles of something to take back to the castle with me, for a sort of … afterparty?”

“Ohh, of course! And who might this afterparty be with?” said Rosmerta shrewdly. (F/N) didn’t miss a beat.

“A friend who can’t make it tonight,” she said sweetly.

“Your friend wouldn’t happen to be Remus Lupin, by any chance?”

“He would,”

Rosmerta assumed a knowing little smile and nodded. “Well, then! What can I get for you?”

“Why are you smiling like that?” asked (F/N), eyeing the landlady with suspicion.

“Oh, no reason, dear …”

“Liar,” (F/N) teased back.

“You don’t miss a trick, do you, girl?” said Rosmerta fondly, but she tutted at the same time and placed her hands on her hips. “Well, what can I say? There's been a fair bit of gossip about the two of you,”

(F/N) paused. “… What sort of gossip?”

“Just … sweet things, you know? That you’re soft on each other - _that_ kind of gossip,”

“Oh dear, people think we’re dating?”

“Not necessarily _dating,_ but they do think something is there. Apparently, you can often be found together in your spare time,”

“We’re old _friends,_ Rosmerta,”

“I know,” said the landlady, chuckling lightly. “I’m not the one saying these things,”

“Who is?”

“A few of your colleagues – Hagrid definitely seems to think you would make a ‘cute’ couple, and those were his words – but oh, _goodness,_ there are a lot of students who talk about you …”

“I don’t think I even want to know …”

Rosmerta was in full swing, though, and she wasn’t going to be stopped, regardless of whether (F/N) wanted her to continue. “You’ve got some kids who think it would be great if two of the most well-liked teachers got together, but there are some who wouldn’t like it at all. Mainly the ones that fancy either you or Remus …”

(F/N) cringed. “You must be _joking …_ ”

“Not at all,” said Rosmerta good-naturedly. “You’ve both taken the school by storm,”

That didn’t make the concept of students fancying her or Remus any easier to swallow.

“Anyway …” said (F/N), trying to change the subject. “D’you think I could get a few bottles of butterbeer, and maybe … I don’t know, what would you recommend?”

“For a night in with someone who couldn’t join the others? How about firewhisky? Oh, and I also have these little bottles of chocolate liqueurs that are supposed to go with desserts, but you can have those, if you like?”

“That would be fab, Rosmerta, thank you. How much do I owe you?”

“Just buy me a couple drinks later,” she replied with a wink. (F/N) laughed and agreed.

Feeling rather good about her haul, (F/N) returned to her room at Hogwarts and stowed the goods safely inside a cupboard. She then had a few hours to herself, so she spent it reading up on hippogriffs, and writing down what she knew from her own experience, preparing for Buckbeak’s defence. In no time at all, though, the sun had gone down, and it was pitch black outside, to the point she could only see what the light from her room would illuminate - even then it was just fat, white snowflakes drifting lazily past the window.

She got changed into her ‘party clothes’, and used magic to do her hair and makeup. Feeling confident, for once, she grabbed her purse and made her way to the Entrance Hall, where she was met by Minerva who was leaving the staff room.

“Off to Hogsmeade as well?” (F/N) asked her.

“I am indeed!” said Minerva, looking rather excited. “Shall we walk together?”

“Let’s!”

They pulled their cloaks tighter to their bodies and braved the cold, trudging out to the village in the thick snow. By the time they arrived, they could already hear jubilant voices cheering and laughing inside, and opened the front door to a warm, bright, merry scene. Hagrid was sitting at the head of one very long table, toasting to everyone in sight. He had obviously had a lot to drink already. Dumbledore sat to his right, smiling cheerfully and sipping on something that looked like limoncello, but which (F/N) knew would be much more magical.

“(F/N)!” roared Hagrid, beckoning her over with an enormous hand. The other gripped the pint he was half-drinking, half-spilling down his front. “Come ‘ere, pull up a seat!”

She grinned around at everyone, whose eyes were now on her and Minerva. It was going to be a long, fun night.

***

It was only midnight, but thanks to Hagrid and Rosmerta, most of the Hogwarts staff ended up feeling more than just a little tipsy. At quarter past they staggered out of The Three Broomsticks, laughing amongst themselves and trying not to wake the residents of Hogsmeade. Minerva tottered off in the direction of her house – (F/N) had never seen her so liberated and had never imagined it, either – and Dumbledore walked with her to ensure she made it back safely. There were no Dementors in sight yet, which was interesting, given they walked as a relatively large group and every one of them was in high spirits.

Hagrid grabbed (F/N) by the shoulders and hoisted her onto his massive shoulder, which was approximately as wide as what she would consider a standard-sized armchair. When they were halfway back up the road to Hogwarts, they recommenced their cheering and celebrations, singing carols and Muggle Christmas songs at the tops of their voices, and in noticeably drunken warbles.

“The students who decided to stay behind will – _hic –_ wonder what on earth’s got into all of us,” (F/N) laughed, trying not to topple backwards off Hagrid’s shoulder. He slung a tree-like arm over her lower legs to hold her in place, chortling along with her as he trudged through the snow alongside the others.

By the time they reached the castle, (F/N) had sobered up a little. She supposed it was the cold wind that did it, hitting her cheeks as she travelled several feet higher than usual. Hagrid put her down on the threshold of the Entrance Hall while the others skipped, stumbled or danced into the castle, their merry chatter echoing throughout the corridors.

“Yeh’ll be all righ’ then, (F/N)?” said Hagrid, swaying slightly on the spot.

“Yeah thanks, Hagrid,” she said brightly. “You?”

“O’ course!” he boomed, laughing heartily. “Bin on longer an’ crazier benders than this before, I can tell yeh!”

(F/N) didn’t doubt that in the slightest as she watched Hagrid march off through the snow towards his hut, sending her a jolly wave over his shoulder. She waved back, although she knew he wouldn’t see it, and made her way back to her room to collect the goodies she had stockpiled for Remus. Before she knew it, she was knocking on his door again, wondering if he really would still be up at this hour.

The handle clicked and the door swung open with a slight creak. There stood her friend, dressed comfortably in a woollen jumper and, surprisingly, dark blue jeans. It suited him, although (F/N) couldn’t remember the last time she had seen him wearing jeans.

As if he knew what she was thinking, Remus chuckled and said, “It’s not often you get to dress down as a teacher,”

“No, and it … well, you … look nice,” she said, trying not to blush. She did think to herself, though, that if she did blush, she could at least blame it on the drink.

Remus, however, blushed very hotly indeed. “So do you,” he said without pause, the colour in his cheeks intensifying. “Oh, er … Come in,” he added, stepping aside.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper. She glanced around and noticed that he had decorated the classroom a little to give it a more festive atmosphere. It was cosy, and much warmer than usual, with little golden lights twinkling here and there. He led her through to his own room, which was less spacious than a classroom, but still had enough room for them to set up and have their miniature Christmas party.

“Have a seat,” said Remus, indicating the sofa they had talked on when they first reunited.

“Thanks again. Oh, and Merry Christmas, by the way …” said (F/N), reaching into her bag and pulling out her present to him. Knowing he wasn’t one for grand gifts or exuberant gestures, (F/N) had nevertheless bought him the biggest bar of homemade Honeydukes chocolate she could find in his favourite flavour, which she remembered from their youth. A simple gift, but one she knew he would like.

He smiled, gave her the usual ‘you shouldn’t have’, and unwrapped the paper, grinning when he saw what it was. “Thank you, (F/N). I’m surprised you remembered …”

“Of course I did,” she replied. “How could I forget?”

“Well, if that’s the logic behind it, perhaps you won’t be surprised by what I got you,”

Again, there was an exchange of thanks and gentle scolding, and (F/N) opened her present to find _her_ favourite Honeydukes chocolate.

“I am the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, after all,” said Remus lightly, winking at her. (F/N) suddenly felt very warm inside, and she grinned straight back.

“You know this won’t last five minutes once it’s open, right?”

“That’s the point,” chuckled Remus, sitting down next to her on the sofa. “Anyway, with everything going on, I think we could use it,”

“Agreed,” said (F/N) gently. “So! What’s first?”

What was first was deciding which drinks to open. It made no difference to (F/N), but to Remus, who had been cooped up all evening, it made all the difference in the world – or so it seemed to him. He settled on butterbeer to begin with, but as time went on, and their games of Exploding Snap and Whist and Gin Rummy got more and more giggly and silly, he progressed to the stronger stuff. Eventually, the friends were taking shots of firewhisky together, spluttering with laughter every time one of them struggled with the burning sensation.

“Oh my god, I can’t remember the last time I was this drunk …” Remus giggled. (F/N) thought it was adorable.

“We’re going to regret it tomorrow, I’m telling you now,” she laughed back.

Once the laughter had died down, and neither of them picked up the game again, their eyes wandered to the confectionery that (F/N) had brought. Both knew that the other was eyeing up the last Chocoball, with its heavy strawberry mousse and clotted cream filling, looking all the more delicious for being the only one left.

Remus and (F/N) looked at each other, registered the competition, and lunged for the candy. Remus was quicker; he whipped it out from (F/N)’s reach and, in two quick bites, polished it off and gave her a very smug little smirk.

“Oh, _charming,”_ she teased, rolling her eyes.

“Should have been quicker,” said Remus, poking out his tongue.

(F/N) had no idea what possessed her. Was it the drink? Was it the happy atmosphere? Or was it the fact that she had been denying to herself that she still thought Remus was ‘cute’?

 _No,_ she thought, _he’s much more than cute._

Her body was on autopilot, and it felt very much as though she was simply going along for the ride as someone else made her do whatever they wanted. Only she was completely fine with this, and was glad she didn’t seem to have to think very hard about what she was doing.

Remus watched as (F/N) quirked an eyebrow at him, then leaned forward with a very intriguing glint in her eye and grin on her lips. Then, before he could even think, those lips were pressed softly but firmly against his. Imagining this to be some kind of surreal dream, his eyes began to flutter closed, but they shot wide open again when he felt her tongue dart out and stroke his.

She pulled back in an instant, a very cunning smirk on her face. Remus didn’t say anything – his breathing was much too shallow, for one thing – but he didn’t have to.

“This is what happens when you don’t share,” she said, a little more foxily than she intended.

(F/N) glanced down at the cards scattered on the sofa, suddenly feeling the heat and colour rushing to her cheeks as she realised what she had done. She had kissed Remus. _French_ kissed him, no less _._ She had no idea if that was inappropriate, and if it was, how badly he would react. She dared herself to look at him again, but meeting the gaze of a wolf was not what she expected.

He moved quicker than she could register, pushing the cards they had been playing with to the floor. She squeaked as he pinned her to the sofa, wondering what on earth was going on.

“Why did you kiss me?” he growled. He wasn’t smiling.

“I’m … sorry …? Remus, I wasn’t thinking …” she stammered nervously.

He silenced her again, with the strongest, most bruising kiss she had ever received.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!
> 
> So, Chapter 20 is in the works, and it won't be long before it's ready to go. However, I have a question for all of you: Do you want the - ahem - *detailed* version of what comes next, or do you want me to gloss over it?
> 
> Let's treat this as a poll! Leave me a comment at the end of this chapter and let me know which you prefer.
> 
> On Saturday 5th December (so in about 2 weeks' time), I'll count the comments, revise the chapter if necessary (if the more popular choice doesn't match what I've already done), and give you all something new w/c 7th December ('cause I wanna make sure it's all correct and looking pretty for you lovely people).
> 
> I look forward to hearing from you!
> 
> All my love <3
> 
> \- SooperChicken


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! I hope you're doing well.
> 
> As promised, I present Chapter 20 for your reading pleasure (I hope)! 
> 
> The poll results are in, so thank you to everyone who voted. Your feedback is, as always, very much appreciated! I'm really sorry if the content ahead isn't what you wanted, though, but you are again welcome to skip ahead if you wish.
> 
> I will provide some additional tags below, because I think it's quite important to give you all a fair heads-up for what you're about to read. Even so, I really hope you do enjoy what's coming up.
> 
> \--
> 
> Additional Tags/Warnings:
> 
> \- Strong language  
> \- Drunken sex  
> \- Explicit sexual content  
> \- Dom/sub  
> \- Angst

Remus’ kiss stole (F/N)’s breath away. When he pulled back, staring into her eyes with his wild green ones, he left her panting for air as though she had been held underwater.

Suddenly his eyes cleared and, inexplicably, (F/N) knew that the wolf had stepped aside for Remus – although the wolf _was_ Remus, and he was the wolf.

“(F/N) …” he whispered, his voice pleading. “Tell me to stop and I will … I don’t have much control … I can’t …” He lowered his head so that she couldn't see his eyes. He was clearly struggling.

(F/N) finally understood. She had never seen Remus look so utterly feral before, but she suddenly remembered what he had said about the Cold Moon. It affected him more than _other_ full moons …

She chuckled, mostly to herself, but it made him look up. “What?” he murmured, beginning to tremble. The battle raging inside him was intensifying.

“How wolfish _are_ you?” she giggled. “You … what? Have a mating season?”

She watched him square his jaw before replying. He very nearly lost the fight; it was taking everything he had not to pounce on her. “Yes … kind of. Wolves often mate in the winter, don’t they? It’s no different now …”

“That’s really –,”

Remus clamped a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry, (F/N), I am so, _so_ sorry, but if the next word out of your mouth isn’t ‘yes’ or ‘no’, I don’t know what will happen. This … _thing_ and I, we’re one and the same, but I’ve never had to deal with it in the presence of a woman - much less a woman I’ve wanted for years. I’m trying … I’m trying _so hard … Please_ give me an answer I can work with,”

He had begun to shake quite violently, and he forced himself to look away again. He slowly removed his hand from (F/N)’s mouth. Her chest was heaving, her heart was pounding, and her mind was racing.

“Yes,” she said.

Remus’ head flew up. “Pardon?”

She didn’t repeat herself, but cupped him gently around the back of the neck and pulled him in for another kiss.

_That does it,_ he thought. Without breaking the kiss, he grabbed her, sat up, and dragged her into his lap. She wrapped her legs around him, feeling his erection pushing against her, and she squeaked again as he gently nibbled her lower lip. He stood, trying to carry her with him, but it was impossible in their fervour to concentrate on anything but simple movements and savage kisses.

“Move,” he growled, pushing her towards the door behind her that led to the adjoining room, where he slept. She didn’t hear him at first, her heart pounding too loudly in her ears, but she got the idea when he pushed her again, a little harder, and snapped, “ _Move,_ ”

She did as she was jolly well told, but walked backwards until she felt the wood of the door against her back. “Yes, Professor …” she purred.

She could only have made him wilder if he had returned from dinner to find her sitting naked on his desk. He was upon her in an instant, sandwiching her between his body and the door, and they fumbled with the handle until it swung open, allowing them to fall through.

Remus seized (F/N) by the back of the neck this time, and pulled her in for another heart-stopping kiss. This time, when he withdrew, it was to observe (F/N) looking slightly dazed.

_What the hell am I doing?_ Remus thought, pushing his wolfish side firmly out of the way. “(F/N), are you all right?”

(F/N) giggled breathlessly, looking very giddy indeed. “I never imagined you could be so aggressive …” Seeing the alarm on his face, she seized him by the front of his jumper and pulled him close again, grinning cheekily up at him. “It’s really fucking hot,”

The wolf tackled the man out of the way and commandeered the situation once more. He stripped (F/N) of her blouse and bra in the blink of an eye, tossing them aside before pushing her down onto the bed and tearing her jeans off her legs. But the man wasn’t having any of this hurried, primal nonsense. He had dreamed of this for the last eighteen years (at _least),_ wondering what it would be like to make love to this amazing woman – and not just fuck her into the mattress because his hormones were screaming at him.

No. He was still a man, right up until the moon turned him into a beast each month. When that happened, he would make sure he was nowhere near anyone he could hurt, and furthest of all from (F/N).

She was magnificent. Resplendent. Draped sideways across his bed with her legs dangling over the edge, cold moonlight streaming through the window and covering her with an ethereal veil of silver. Her hands were poised just above her chest, rapidly rising and falling with excitement and exertion, and she gazed at him with bright, shiny eyes. She was utterly to die for, and Remus decided then that, no matter how difficult it was for him to resist his own impulses, he would make her feel her best before he let the wolf have his way … especially since the woman was clearly mad, and seemed to _like_ the way the wolf treated her.

Remus leaned in to kiss (F/N)’s stomach and smiled. He could get used to lunacy like that.

The sudden change of pace was a shock to (F/N)’s system but she loved it, nevertheless. She felt as though she were being lavished with the adoration of two completely different men. Remus, sweet and attentive as ever, took every care to make sure she was comfortable and happy, the balm to the burn left behind by the voracious wolf. He kissed her stomach again, before choosing a leg and working his way down. In her euphoria, (F/N) thought Remus must have kissed every accessible inch of skin, from the tops and outsides to the very soft and sensitive insides. When he reached her ankle, he swapped to the other, starting on the opposite side, and working his way back up.

She was bordering on desperation for him when he reached the inside of her other thigh. Remus, however, _was_ desperate, but he was also desperately ignoring the feeling, and the way her natural fragrance was slowly beginning to rub away any last vestiges of his self-control. For (F/N), though, he would do anything, and he banished the wolf until he finished what he started.

As before, it began with a kiss. With her underwear still on, he kissed her over the thin, lacy fabric and even then got a brief taste of her. It sent a jolt of fierce electricity through his mind, nearly erasing him completely, at which point he imagined the wolf would have taken over and been quite smug about it. Recovering himself, Remus hooked two fingers into the elastic of (F/N)’s panties and pulled, savouring the act of peeling them down her legs.

She was breathing very heavily, suddenly self-conscious but also terribly aroused. She tried not to cry out as she felt his mouth on her womanhood, kissing her there as he would her lips. Then his tongue flicked out experimentally, and she was gone. Everything was a blur after that first, curious taste.

Remus couldn’t hold on much longer. He’d had a lot of very exciting dreams about (F/N) in the past, and now that he was this close, and had her writhing and squirming and whimpering at his touch, the drive to take her was more powerful than ever. She came, gasping and running her hands through his hair at the same time. Taking care not to overstimulate her yet, Remus rocked back into a crouching position, observing his masterpiece and taking immense satisfaction in knowing that _he_ had turned her into this mewling mess, her legs shaking and her core wonderfully slick …

_She could be slicker …_ said a dark voice inside his head. He knew that voice well, but it usually kept a respectful distance at the back of his mind. Now it sounded almost as if someone were leaning right over his shoulder. He shuddered to think he was only listening to the fiendish part of his own psyche.

Remus stood up. (F/N) tried, shakily, to prop herself up on her elbows to watch him. She was about to offer to undress him, but the second she saw the look on his face, and the darkness of his eyes where his pupils were blown wide with lust, an unbearably hot flush enveloped her body and she simply stared, realising she was now in the presence of the aggressive Remus. This was the man who would not – under any circumstances – entertain any teasing from her.

Not unless she wanted him to break her.

Remus was just calm enough to remove his own clothes without ripping anything, and (F/N) used this moment of cool silence to simply drink in the sight of him, thinking how lean he was beneath the oversize clothes he usually wore, and she gazed at all of the scars he bore.

It was just as she noticed the size of his manhood that Remus came back to her with confidence, as if they had done this lots of times, and crawled up her body until his eyes were level with hers. Only a thin band of green encircled his wide, black pupils, and (F/N) found herself struggling to breathe in her excitement. Her whole body felt feverish, and Remus basked in the heat as it radiated from her.

Then, without warning, he seized her lips in a kiss that was so possessive and hungry that (F/N) whited out. The next thing she knew, she was flat on her back, further up the bed, and Remus was above her, rubbing her sodden entrance with the tip of his impressive length. A strange warble tumbled from (F/N)’s lips; she had intended to beg, but actual words were entirely lost to her.

He smirked. She was right where he wanted her - a wreck, too far gone to do anything but lie there and …

_I wish I didn’t think like this …_ thought Remus, finding himself helpless to exert any power over himself anymore. But then, as he watched himself slide unhindered into the woman of his dreams, and as she closed her eyes and her mouth formed a perfect ‘O’ as he filled her, he realised they both wanted this, and he let himself enjoy it – however rough it got.

(F/N) was ablaze and tingling all over. The aftermath of her first orgasm hadn’t yet subsided, and now that Remus had settled between her legs and was driving into her with wild abandon, she could feel him igniting the fuse all over again.

Her moans and soft little cries were ruining him. He didn’t want to come undone yet. Without thinking, Remus pulled out with a wet pop and, ignoring (F/N)’s subsequent bleat of indignation, flipped her onto her front and pulled her hips towards him. Her backside in the air, presented to him like an invitation, and the plateau of her back a tempting, forty-five degree angle, Remus stroked (F/N)’s skin gently before grabbing her hips again, and thrusting vigorously into her with his hard, aching member.

(F/N) gasped at his assertiveness. It didn’t hurt; in fact, it felt utterly incredible. It might have been because this was her first sexual encounter since returning from the dead, but now wasn’t the time to be thinking about that in too much detail; the things Remus was doing to her required her full attention.

He reached forward with one hand and began massaging her breast, while continuing to hold on tightly to her hip with the other. A fresh bolt of pleasure surged through (F/N)’s veins and made her squeal with excitement, giving Remus the encouragement he yearned for. He tweaked her nipple gently between his thumb and index finger, drawing from her the most delicious sounds that made him twitch eagerly inside her warm, wet …

_She’s so tight …_ he thought, before suddenly feeling very vulgar. The wolf didn’t mind that, but Remus himself did. Still, he couldn’t help it; this felt better than he had dreamed, and he was sure that if he didn’t redirect his focus _now_ then he wouldn’t be able to hold out.

“Ahhh, _Remus …!”_ (F/N) sang, her voice stroking his ego as effectively as her walls did his cock.

He didn’t know what came over him. Even the wolf didn’t think as lasciviously as he did then, but he knew it couldn’t have been anyone else.

_Look at her, bent over for me, whining like a bitch in heat …_

Such filth never usually occurred to Remus, but as soon as it crossed his mind and he heard (F/N) wail her approval of what he was doing to her, the words replayed as though on a loop, and he found himself pounding into her with new energy.

His fingertips dug into her painfully, but (F/N) didn’t care about that in the slightest. All she could focus on was how he was driving her to insanity. The overstimulation was enough to make her eyes roll back in her head, and sweat to bead on her body, giving her a very slight sheen. Not only that, but she was going to come again, and it was going to be a monster …

It hit her like a freight train, and she sobbed Remus’ name as she pulsed around him. He hadn’t expected it, although he had been able to feel her beginning to quake underneath him, and he squeezed her unbelievably hard as she dragged him over the edge with her. He leaned as far forward as he could, his lips making contact with her shoulder as her body arched, giving him new access, and he kissed and licked and …

_DON’T BITE HER!_

That loud, frantic thought did stop him – somehow. He nuzzled the crook of her neck instead, kissing and lightly licking the soft skin there too, tasting her, savouring her. (F/N) quivered, eyes closed and panting as she exposed more of her neck to him, instinctively baring her throat as though she, too were a wolf. Ignoring the faint scar there, the proof of her murder, Remus embraced her from behind. He twitched and pulsed inside her, unwilling to withdraw until he had pumped every last drop into her, making sure she took everything he had.

When all grew quiet and still, and the wolf had finally been satisfied and Remus was back in control, he kissed (F/N)’s shoulder blade one more time – immensely relieved that he had managed to avoid biting her – before straightening up and sliding out. He shivered as his body cooled, and he cast a quick, silent cleaning spell before making his way to his lover's side. She turned over and flopped down next to him, completely spent and still a little drunk (as was Remus), before giving him a silly grin.

He gave a slightly breathless laugh in return, before leaning over and kissing her again - this time on the forehead. (F/N) wordlessly cast her usual spell with a wave of her hand, and then accepted Remus’ invitation to join him under the covers. He pulled her flush against him, her back to his chest, and kissed her once again on the back of the neck before they began to drift off.

“Merry Christmas again, Moony …” (F/N) whispered sleepily.

She heard him give a very faint chuckle. “A _very_ Merry Christmas, (F/N),”

He kissed her shoulder a final time, and, within seconds, they were asleep.

***

(F/N) had dozed off with Remus at her back, but she awoke to find herself with an arm draped over his body and her head on his shoulder. He had one arm wrapped protectively around her and, further down the bed, their legs were intertwined. For a moment, (F/N) absentmindedly considered her predicament without truly recognising it. Then she jumped.

She was in bed with Remus. _Naked._ She suddenly remembered all of the night before, drunk though she had been, but there was no way she could forget sex like that.

_I slept with him …_ she thought, unsure of what that actually _meant,_ when one considered they were not only old friends, but also colleagues, and they shared a great deal of history together. Then, as she turned to gaze at his sleeping face, the realisation kicked in: this was the most peaceful he had looked in a very long time. Even with the next full moon less than twenty-four hours away, Remus looked nothing less than tranquil.

She leaned over and checked the clock on his bedside cabinet. Ten-thirty, it read. (F/N) breathed a deep, contented sigh and lay back down in the crook of Remus’ arm, snuggling up to him. Lunch wasn’t until one o’clock anyway, so they still had time if they wanted to go …

(F/N) fell asleep again, but stirred half an hour later, roused by Remus moving beside her. She shifted to look at him, and realised he was doing the same.

“Good morning,” he said, giving her the softest smile she had ever seen.

“And the same to you,” she replied, eyes twinkling. “Sleep well?”

“You have no idea …” he purred, reaching out to stroke her arm with just his fingertips. “You?”

“Well, I didn’t need any Potion before bed, so in the absence of any nightmares, I would say I did sleep well, thank you,”

“Good,” said Remus, drinking in her beauty. He didn’t want to get ahead of himself, but if he could wake up next to her every morning, he would die a happy man. They were drawn together as if by a magnet, and their lips connected in a soft and tender kiss.

No words were exchanged as they revelled in each other’s affection, and (F/N) let Remus pull her towards him for a gentle morning make-out. He tenderly traced the curve of her waist with a warm hand, while hers rested softly on his chest. Just as Remus felt himself beginning to slip into passion, he chuckled and pulled away.

“What’s wrong?” (F/N) asked.

“Nothing,” said Remus, smirking. “But if I let myself get carried away, you’ll never escape,”

“That might not be such a bad thing …” she purred, nuzzling up to him.

“I thought you wanted to go to Christmas lunch?” he growled, stooping down and stealing another quick kiss.

“Hmm … Christmas lunch, or staying in bed with you all day. Tough choice …”

Remus’ heart leapt for joy. She really did seem to want to stay with him. He was about to accept, and scoop her into his arms to begin making sweet, _sober_ love to her, thrilled that last night’s aggressiveness hadn’t been off-putting, when he suddenly remembered something.

“Moony?” he heard her say, as he buried his face in her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine …” he murmured, working through his concern. “It’s just the …”

“Moon,” she said, finishing the sentence for him when he paused. “Does it make you feel unwell? Or does it … you know ... hurt?”

Remus felt both of those things from time to time as a full moon approached, but that wasn’t what worried him. What played on his mind was the memory of nearly biting (F/N) the night before; it wouldn’t have turned her into a werewolf, since he was in his human form at the time, but it would have given her wolfish tendencies, at the very least. He could not guarantee that he would not draw blood, but he _could_ guarantee that he would never have forgiven himself …

“Yes, it … makes me feel strange when it’s this close …” he said, choosing a half-lie over the full truth.

(F/N) gave a quiet hum of sympathy, turning to him properly and raising his chin with just a finger. She kissed him softly, unafraid to be the instigator, and although Remus put up a fraction of resistance (in light of his fears), he melted into her not a moment later. (F/N) broke the kiss again, and gently stroked his cheek with the backs of her fingers.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked.

Remus searched her face for any sign that she could just be flirting with him. When he found her to be as sincere as ever, he fell just a little deeper in love. “You’ve done more than enough already …” he whispered, before leaning in and kissing her forehead.

He laid back down, pulling (F/N) gently by the shoulders so that she would come with him. He would not attempt lovemaking again – not today – but he knew that he absolutely could not let her go without a cuddle.

Remus was extremely warm, and (F/N) was incredibly soft, so neither of them wanted to move once they had snuggled up and got comfortable. Time seemed to fly by, though, and before they knew it, the clock struck midday and (F/N), at least, had to get up.

“Are you coming down for lunch?” she asked, shuffling towards the edge of the bed with a sheet (mostly) wrapped around her for modesty. Remus thought it amusing that she would even try to cover up, given how much of each other they had already seen.

This time, his answer was completely genuine. “I would, but I don’t think I’d be very good company. The quieter things are before the moon, the better …”

(F/N) smiled softly. “I understand,” she said. “Do you want me to bring you anything?”

Remus smiled back, kissing her with his gaze. “You’re very sweet, but I’ll be fine – thank you,” he murmured. “I’ll probably sneak down to the kitchens later in the afternoon, if I’m hungry,”

(F/N) decided to take him at face value and nodded before standing up. She cast about for her clothes, which were strewn untidily about the room and were therefore in completely different places. Her panties were next to the bed, though, so she picked them up and slipped them on before walking around to fetch the other discarded articles.

Remus watched her amorously, but as she turned her back to him to put on her bra, the warmth in his gaze turned to cold, gut-wrenching alarm. It had only been a few hours since their frisky gambol in the sheets, but (F/N) was already beginning to sport some telling red marks and greyish bruises on her arms, lower back and hips. There were even a few blotches on her upper thighs where Remus had obviously manhandled her a little too roughly …

He felt sick. He didn’t know if it was because of the lunar cycle, or because he thought he might have caused (F/N) damage or pain. He continued to gaze at her in silence as she walked around the room, picking up her clothes and getting dressed as she went. Eventually, she managed to cover up all of the evidence of their energetic coupling.

“Well …” she said, turning back to him and smiling, without realising that he was worried. “… I guess I should probably be off, if I’m going to shower and get changed before lunch …”

Remus clenched the bedsheets in his fists for a moment before loosening his grip again – he really didn’t want her to go. The full moon was that very night, though, and he didn’t want to run the risk of still being with her when evening fell.

“I wish you didn’t have to leave,” he said honestly. He made to stand, but (F/N) stopped him, pushing him back down onto the bed with a smirk.

“Stay in bed and rest,” she said.

“But I want to see you off,”

She chuckled. “What, stark bollock naked? What if someone sees you?”

“Well, I won’t be coming to the door like this, will I?” he retorted, laughing lightly and momentarily forgetting his troubles. “Let me get dressed and I’ll …”

“You’ll do no such thing,” said (F/N), tutting. “Now stay,” she added, giving him a saucy wink and a soft, slow kiss. “I’ll come and see you tomorrow evening, okay?”

Remus sighed through his nose and gazed lovingly into her eyes. “Okay. I’ll be counting the minutes,”

“Me too,”

(F/N) gave Remus the loveliest smile he had ever seen, then made for the door. When she was gone, he fell back against his pillows and stared at the ceiling with a very soppy grin on his face. Nothing could spoil his mood for the time being, not even the effect of the moon or his worries about (F/N)’s bruises. For now, he let himself bask in the possibility of the woman he loved actually loving him as well.

Back in her chambers, (F/N) stood under a very hot shower, running her hands over her bruised flesh. She smiled with satisfaction, continuing to find it thrilling that someone as gentle and sweet as Remus could hide such a dominant, aggressive side. She would wear the marks proudly, yet in secret, and as she washed her hair and finished her shower, she flirted with the prospect of asking Remus if he wanted something more from their relationship than just a single night of passion.

(F/N) thought long and hard about what she wanted as she walked down to the Great Hall, feeling refreshed and ready to face whoever she would be joining. She would also take care to shield her mind from Severus, if he was going to be there, because she did not want him to know that she had spent the night with Remus.

She would never hear the end of it if Severus found out. She also had to hope that he wouldn’t find out from Remus himself.

When (F/N) arrived in the Hall, it was to find that one long table had originally been set for twelve. Sybill was standing at the end of the table closest to the door, protesting something, as Dumbledore conjured an extra chair for her, and placed it between Severus and Minerva – neither of whom, (F/N) noted, looked especially pleased to host the seer. Minerva also looked slightly hungover.

“If I join the table, then we shall be thirteen! Nothing could be more unlucky!” Sybill cried, in a soft, breathy sort of voice.

Minerva was about to speak, but (F/N) stepped in with a smile. “And with me here as well, that makes fourteen. Don’t worry so much, Sybill,”

Sybill nearly jumped out of all her beads and bangles, making a rather loud jingling sound as (F/N) startled her. This earned some suppressed grins from a few people around the table. Dumbledore greeted (F/N), but before he could conjure a chair for her as well, Harry, Ron and Hermione – who were also sitting at the end of the table – scooted up and made room for her next to them.

Or, rather, next to Harry. He smiled cheerfully as she gladly took the seat; perching on the end of a bench next to her beloved godson was much better than sitting on a chair of her own, in her opinion.

Christmas lunch was a quiet, civilised affair. Sybill kept her predictions to herself and Minerva, as a result, did not feel the need to argue with her. Dumbledore was very merry, but a stark comparison to Severus, who somehow looked gloomier than usual. (F/N) wondered if that had anything at all to do with the way he kept shooting suspicious glances in her direction.

She distracted herself by talking to Harry, Ron and Hermione. They talked about all sorts, especially Harry’s best Christmas present – which they apparently had to keep secret for the time being – and (F/N) found herself grinning foolishly throughout the entire conversation.

Severus noticed this and, although he held absolutely no affection whatsoever for Potter and his friends, he could not help feeling quietly pleased. Seeing (F/N) smile was oddly rewarding to the Potions master, given that he was not the one currently making her happy.

After the meal, Harry and Ron stood up and were about to go back to Gryffindor Tower when Sybill finally broke her silence. In a panicked voice, she demanded to know which of them had risen first. Minerva, tutting about it hardly mattering, rolled her eyes at (F/N) as though to indicate being completely finished with Sybill’s harping on about death omens.

“As I said, Sybill, there are fourteen of us. I don’t think anyone is going to be dying anytime soon as a result of our dining arrangements,” said (F/N), smiling kindly at the seeress. Minerva adopted a smug little grin, which she quickly wiped away before it was spotted by everyone.

Sybill let the boys go without further interrogation, but as everyone else prepared to leave, Hermione stayed behind to speak to Minerva. (F/N) wondered what was going on, but she only had an hour before she found out.

“Minerva … Is that a Firebolt?” (F/N) asked, as her friend and colleague came marching into the staff room with the impressive broomstick in hand.

“Yes, dear … and it’s your godson’s,” said the Head of Gryffindor grimly. “It was sent to him as a Christmas present by some unknown benefactor …”

“Oh …” said (F/N) softly, sinking back into her armchair, and realising this is what Harry had been so excited about. “I’m sure we can guess who that would have been, then …”

Minerva made a small tutting noise of agreement, and set the broomstick down upon a low coffee table. It gleamed in the warmly lit staff room, and looked even newer and fancier compared to its very dated surroundings.

“How on earth could he have bought it for Potter, though?” asked Minerva, gazing at the broom in disbelief.

“He’s from a very wealthy family,” said (F/N) gently, feeling an odd little twinge as she spoke of Sirius. “Even though they all but disowned him, an uncle left him a nice inheritance. That didn’t go down too well with the rest of the family, as you can probably imagine …”

“… It must pain you terribly …” said Minerva kindly. “To speak of him, I mean, and knowing what he did,”

(F/N) wasn’t in any mood to argue about Sirius’ supposed guilt, but she nodded along with Minerva, nevertheless. It _did_ pain her to talk about him – just not for the reason everyone thought.

Ten minutes later, Madam Hooch walked into the staff room, followed shortly after by Filius. After overcoming their initial shock at seeing an international-standard broomstick at Hogwarts, they began examining it for hexes.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” said (F/N), pushing herself up and out of the armchair. She couldn’t bear to watch as they began testing the broom, muttering darkly about all the advanced magic a ‘dangerous wizard like Sirius Black’ could have placed upon it.

That night, (F/N) slept rather fitfully. She woke up several times and, the final time she checked her alarm clock, it read half past two in the morning. That had been the last straw for her, and she had reached into her nightstand for her bottle of Dreamless Sleep Potion, poured herself a capful, and downed it like a shot. She was out like a light.

On Boxing Day morning, she awoke again with a bit of a start. She thought back to the night before, and recalled that she had been thinking – almost obsessively – of how much nicer it would have been to have someone to sleep with. Her thoughts had naturally wandered to Remus, and then she also remembered that he would have spent the night as a wolf, and would not have been in any fit state to have company himself.

(F/N) laid in bed until quite late that morning, to the point she missed breakfast for the second day in a row. Her absence was not overlooked by certain individuals, but nothing was said. When she showed for lunch she was not asked any questions, although a couple of her colleagues had been a little concerned. When they did see her, however, they simply assumed she had slept in.

She kept her promise to Remus, and went along to his room after dinner. She brought him something to eat as well, since she had little idea of whether he had had anything in the last day or so. (F/N) knocked gently when she arrived, but let herself in and closed the door quietly behind her. Remus was not in his classroom, nor his office, so she knocked again upon his chamber door and waited.

Remus opened the door a crack and, seeing who it was, proceeded to open it wider so that he could greet (F/N) properly.

“Hello,” he said, in a voice that belonged to a person who had just woken up.

(F/N) placed the plate she was carrying on a little table nearby, and returned to give Remus a soft hug, rising up to rest her chin on his strong shoulder. “Hey …” she whispered, squeezing him lightly. “How are you?”

Remus hugged her back with just as much affection, but he pulled back and simply looked at her. Close to, (F/N) could see that he didn’t look very well at all – his skin was ashen and slightly waxy, and his previously fierce green eyes were now considerably duller, with grey shadows underneath. He was still handsome, though, and (F/N) told him as much.

Remus smiled at the compliment and moved his head forward until it rested lightly against hers. “You’re much too sweet, (F/N) …” he murmured.

“Nonsense,” she replied, and angled her face so that she could place a warm, soft kiss on his lips. Remus melted into it again, wanting nothing more than to steal her away and snuggle with her until the end of time, but something suddenly startled him.

“(F/N), I … there’s something I need to talk to you about …”

The sudden shift in his tone instantly put (F/N) on edge. “What’s the matter …?” she asked, worried about the way he was pulling back.

“I might be getting ahead of myself here, but …”

(F/N)’s heart fluttered, and she smiled in spite of her nerves, which were still not being eased by his nervousness. “Oh …”

Remus looked up from the spot he had been staring at on the floor, and realised that (F/N) was getting mixed messages. “No, I didn’t mean …”

(F/N) was confused. Remus was confused. “What …?” she asked, her voice higher-pitched than usual.

“You go first,” he said, suddenly feeling very hot in the face. Sick, too. He felt _very_ sick.

“Well, I didn’t come here with the intention of badgering you when you’re not feeling your best, but I did want to ask if … um … you maybe wanted the other night to be something … _more?”_

Remus’ heart sank. He wondered if that was what (F/N) might want. He did too – _desperately_ – but he had been doing a lot of thinking since he last saw her …

“(F/N), I do, but …”

Now it was her heart’s turn to sink. “I-it’s okay …!” she squeaked, feeling very silly indeed. “I understand, it’s too much …”

“No!” Remus yelped, doing everything in his power to _not_ crush her with another hug. “No, that’s not what I was going to say at all …”

(F/N) blinked fiercely to rid herself of the tears in her eyes, focusing instead on Remus, who suddenly appeared very anxious to speak his mind.

“I want to be with you. I’ve wanted to be with you since we were Harry’s age. Possibly even younger. But I … can’t,”

The sweetness of the revelation of the true length of time for which Remus had loved (F/N) mingled unpleasantly with the bitterness of what he was telling her.

“W-why not?” she forced herself to ask.

Remus’ heart was breaking. “My last transformation was one of the worst in recent memory. Despite taking the Potion, it was excruciatingly painful, and most of the time, I could hardly think straight. This morning, when I came to, I found all sorts of new scratches and bites on my body, and that was when I remembered _your_ bruises …”

“Oh … You saw them? Moony, they’re not that bad …”

“Take away the fact that I cannot bear the thought of hurting you in _any_ capacity, I think the severity of the bruising is somewhat academic …” he said brokenly. “(F/N), do you know how close I came to biting you that night?”

(F/N) was silent. No, she didn’t know that, but she hardly cared. She shook her head, nevertheless.

“I couldn’t live with myself if I passed this agony on to you …” Remus murmured, finding it harder and harder to push the conversation to where he knew it needed to go. “… and that is why I’m saying that, although being with you would be the best thing to ever happen to me, I can’t put you in that kind of danger again …”

“But what if I make the decision myself? Remus, I _want_ to be with you. Your condition doesn’t put me off in the slightest …”

“No, (F/N), just … no. I’m sorry …”

(F/N)’s entire body felt hot and jittery. She felt very unwell, and completely and utterly lost. When she did not reply, Remus let out a quick, unsteady breath, as though he had been holding it for quite some time. (F/N) looked up quickly and wondered if he was crying – his eyes were certainly wet enough.

“Please don’t hate me, (F/N) … This will probably sound like lip service, but I really am doing this because … well … I love you. And I couldn’t stand it if you hated me …”

(F/N) didn’t know what to say, but her mouth started running ahead anyway. “I don’t hate you, Moony – I could never hate you. I love _you,_ in fact, and I have for a long time. Perhaps this love is different to what it was all those years ago, but still …”

He wanted to pull her into his arms so badly, to hold her tight and kiss her and show her just how much he adored her, but he had to resist. The fear of accidentally hurting her again was just too strong …

(F/N) heaved a great, shaky sigh and nodded. Perhaps this was simply how it was meant to be; perhaps she had jumped too soon at the prospect of a new relationship. She hadn’t expected to be hurt, but she supposed that if Remus – who wasn’t actually capable of wounding anyone, emotionally or otherwise – did somehow manage it, then it would be borne of his hatred of himself.

“… I understand. It’s okay,” she said quietly. Remus hated it; the spirit had drained from her, and her lovely eyes were misty with sadness. “I hope we can go back to the way we were before …”

“Of course, anything …”

(F/N) nodded again, signalling the near-end of their discussion. “Good. I will say this, though: sooner or later, you’re going to have to accept that you can’t stop people from loving you and wanting to be with you, even if you don’t want to be with yourself. You can’t expect people to fear what you become once a month, just because _you’re_ afraid …”

“(F/N), you haven’t seen it …”

“I’ve said my piece,” (F/N) interrupted, shaking her head. “I hope it gives you new perspective one day, so you can finally let yourself be free,”

Remus was lost for words. He still wanted to hold her, kiss her, love her … and also to worship the ground she walked on. He was sure that she was the only person who had ever seen him this way - so clearly - with beautiful eyes that could pierce through any barricades he hid behind.

“I’ll … see you later, I guess,” she whispered, before backing out of the door and leaving him to his thoughts.

Remus was utterly wretched, and the despair was relentless. He knew that would continue for a long time, too. Even if it had been for her own safety, he had turned away the woman he had loved for nearly twenty years, and it felt like a knife to the heart. His instinct was telling him to go back to her, beg for forgiveness and ask her to reconsider him, but his better judgement always gave a solid, resounding ‘no’ every time he thought about leaving his room for hers.

(F/N) also felt completely miserable; she did not know what to do with herself to pass the time. She started by going down to Hagrid’s, and whiling away the hours on the grounds with him, but Hagrid was no fool, and knew when something new had occurred to dampen his young friend’s spirits. He also knew when not to prod her for information, though, and so they spent much of their time talking about magical creatures.

Eventually, (F/N) began to feel very lonely, even in the presence of someone she knew she could talk to about anything. Hagrid would never judge her, and nor would he judge Remus. Something kept (F/N)’s tongue from wagging, though, and made her feel as though this ‘boy trouble’ was something to be dealt with privately.

Her mood yo-yoed considerably over the following week, and her grief was, naturally, most apparent to those who knew her best. Knowing her did not mean they were in any position to help, though …

Severus, for instance, _always_ knew when (F/N)’s smile was a mask for her pain. He did not know who or what had hurt her, but he could almost feel it oozing from her like poison whenever they were within proximity of each other. He had once tried Legilimency to see if he could catch even a snippet of what could be bothering her, but he hit the most solid mental barrier he had ever encountered, and the attempt resulted in complete failure. Fortunately, (F/N) didn’t seem to have noticed that he even tried.

The other person who noticed her withdrawal was Harry. He and Ron weren’t speaking to Hermione because she got his brand-new Firebolt confiscated, but even two thirteen-year-old boys didn’t need a girl’s insight to come up with some potential reasons for why one of their favourite female teachers was so solemn.

“Maybe she’s depressed?” Ron suggested, as he and Harry sat together in their dormitory one evening. “Mum says Christmas can be difficult for some people …”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t think it’s that. Have you noticed how she and Lupin aren’t really spending time together anymore?”

“So what?” said Ron, a little too defensively. His ears turned slightly pink, too. “They’re friends. Friends have arguments all the time …” He nodded his head towards the door, apparently indicating Hermione.

Harry wasn’t convinced, though. “Ron, I saw them together on the map on Christmas morning … Well, more like the early hours of Christmas morning, but still …”

Ron blushed a little redder. “Did you?”

“Yeah,” said Harry. Then, hastily, he added, “I didn’t see anything I shouldn’t have – they weren’t doing anything weird …!”

Ron seemed to relax, which Harry thought a bit odd. “Well, there you have it, then. She’s not upset because of Lupin. Maybe it was someone else,”

“Like who?” said Harry.

“I dunno. Snape?”

Harry smirked. Ron laughed. “As if,” they said in unison.

Meanwhile, curled up in her bed, (F/N) was drifting in and out of an unhappy slumber. To take her mind off Remus, she now spent a lot of time asleep. She knew it was in no way healthy, but she just couldn’t bring herself to face people some days. Other days, she cursed herself for becoming so reliant upon others for her happiness, even if those people were some of the best friends she had ever had.

She would never regret the night she spent with Remus. She would never regret leaning on him for support, or being his support in return. She would never regret that with anyone. But she was disappointed in herself for allowing this dire mood – if not for throwing herself headlong into romance again, she might still be quite content, as she was in the days leading up to Christmas.

(F/N) rolled onto her other side and opened her eyes to stare at the wall. Who was she kidding? Ever since she came back to life, and Lily did not, she had been hopelessly adrift in a sea of despair. In the years since her resurrection, (F/N) had never once been independent of anyone, whether they were her parents, friends or colleagues; she needed people too much.

She also needed Dreamless Sleep Potion too much. She was beginning to hallucinate, hearing quiet, disembodied voices. Still, addiction to potions wasn’t very well-documented, so she couldn’t be sure if what she was experiencing was a result of overuse of the purple stuff or not. She grabbed a cushion from the end of her bed, pressed her head harder to her pillow, and sandwiched it between both, hoping to drown out the whispers …

They stopped. She slowly removed the cushion from her free ear, wondering if the whispering had just been a draught. Closing her eyes, (F/N) tried to go back to sleep, but the whispering started again. She sat bolt upright in bed, looking around for the source of the noise. It sounded like fine sand moving through an hourglass, but as she listened closer, (F/N) realised that there were words. Most were scrambled together, though. After straining her ears for several minutes, 'dream’ was only one she truly understood.

Something about that single word felt to (F/N) like an instruction; she could not fathom why. When the whispering began, she had thought she might take some more Potion to knock her out and put her to sleep until morning, but now that she had heard words … 

She settled down once more, lying on her back. Gazing at the ceiling, she waited until her eyes began to droop on their own. Apart from the night she spent with Remus, it felt like a long time since she had fallen asleep naturally. At least, she couldn’t remember the last time she did …

When (F/N) opened her eyes a couple of minutes later, she was no longer lying in bed. She was standing in a glade, not unlike Aeolus’ place in the Forest, and everything was bright emerald in the late afternoon sun. It was not cold; in fact, it was rather the opposite, like an evening in May. Looking all around her, it seemed that she was completely alone, so she began walking towards the edge of the clearing to search for an exit.

“Going somewhere?” said a voice behind her.

(F/N) spun around so quickly she lost her balance and stumbled into the long grass. She looked again in the direction of the mysterious voice, and was startled to see a man she knew, but never thought she would see again.

“Professor Moran?” she squeaked, unsure of whether he was really there.

The tall, beautiful Irishman smiled softly and approached her. “I would offer you a hand getting up, but I can’t touch you,” he said, in his usual, gentle manner.

(F/N) pushed herself off the ground and stared at him, wide-eyed. “You can’t … what? So you’re not … you know. Real?”

Moran looked amused. “I’m as real as you want me to be,” he said simply. “And call me Fintan, yes?”

She was utterly gobsmacked. He spoke so easily to her, as if nothing had happened and as if they had been friends since forever. There was certainly no trace of the way he used to act around her as her teacher.

“So you got my message,” he said, his crystalline eyes twinkling in the golden sunlight. He looked paler and more ethereal than ever, standing directly in a sunbeam. (F/N) thought he could hardly blame her for thinking he wasn’t real.

“ _Your_ message?”

“Yes. You heard me telling you to forget the Potion and have a dream,”

(F/N)’s eyes widened even further, to the point she thought they would pop right out of her head. “That was _you?”_ she gasped. “How?”

Moran smiled again, but more enigmatically, this time. “You still have much to learn. As does your father. I’m no ghost, (F/N), but as a Hekan, I have my ways. You should be sufficiently aware of our power to know that death isn’t as much of a barrier to us as it is to other magical beings …”

“Yes, but … How are you doing this? You really are here, I can see that now, but … you’re still _dead …_ ”

The word tasted like poison. She had been beside herself with grief to learn of Moran’s death, but she hadn’t realised – until now – that she had actually missed him.

“Did I summon you, somehow?” she asked, wondering if he was a figment of her imagination. That didn’t make him any less real to her, but she wanted to know. She _had_ to know …

Moran watched her steadily. “You’re closer to the truth by asking if this is something _you’ve_ done,” he said. “I don’t have much choice in the matter – the dead are always drawn to the living in their midst,”

(F/N) felt very bewildered. “So I’m … where, exactly? In the afterlife? But I’m alive - I thought it hurt us to cross over like that?”

Moran flashed her a handsome grin and bobbed slightly from side to side, delighting in watching his favourite student puzzle over the situation in which she found herself. “It does, but not when you do it accidentally. I have a feeling certain people find it easier to just … slip away,”

“What do you mean?” she asked anxiously, unsure if she liked the turn the conversation was taking.

“Nothing sinister, I promise,” said Moran, reading her like an open book. “I always found it quite easy to ‘cross over’ when sleeping, but I think that was due to being a seer. These things come quite naturally to us. _You,_ on the other hand – talented in Divination though you are – may have achieved this so easily because of how long you spent here before,”

“When I was dead?”

“Yes. When I sensed that you had taken up residency in my old quarters, and now teach in my old classroom, I couldn’t have been more pleased. I knew I had to contact you one day, but … you were taking that potion every night. I couldn’t get through to you. So when you finally stopped taking it, I started reaching out, to see if it really would be as easy for you as it was for me …”

“So it wasn’t that you were drawn to my presence here at all … You invited me,”

“In a manner of speaking. But you will find that if you do this again, without intending to meet anyone in particular, we will come to you regardless,”

(F/N) felt a little uneasy to consider the prospect. What if she attracted the wrong kind of spirit?

“Don’t worry about that,” said Moran, as if she had asked him the question directly. “There are enough good spirits watching over you to keep you safe from harm. No one uninvited will approach you here,”

(F/N) pondered his words for a few seconds. She couldn’t believe that seeing Moran again had been as simple as falling asleep and – in essence – dreaming about him.

“Is that why I can’t touch you?” she asked. “Because this is a dream? You’re still here – completely – but unless I come here with purpose, I can’t interact with you beyond talking?”

A boyish sort of excitement tweaked Moran's features. “You learn quickly,” he said.

(F/N) smiled for the first time, feeling much more at ease. “Can I ask you another question?”

“I think you’ve more than one,” said Moran sagely. “But yes, ask away,”

“Why did you invite me?”

“Because you’re dwelling too much on things that are beyond your control. I wanted to let you know that it’s okay to have people you can rely upon, and that just because you are struggling to come to terms with everything that has happened, this does not make you a weak person,”

(F/N) felt tears prick sharply in her eyes and she looked down at the grassy woodland floor.

“So, I invited you to a place you know well, somewhere you can feel safe, strong, and at peace. This is your old dream, is it not?”

(F/N) looked around and blinked through the tears. It was, indeed, the place she used to dream of, although she never found out why. “And did you _actually_ come because I was in your old room?” she asked.

“No,” said Moran casually. “I came because you feel responsible for my death,”

(F/N) stared at him. He seemed to know every dark little corner of her mind, taking a candle to every nook and shedding light upon her innermost thoughts. “Who _are_ you?” she said.

“The same person I was in life,” he replied, inching towards the edge of the glade. (F/N) felt compelled to follow. “You’ve no need to be suspicious, my dear. I’m only trying to help you,”

“As always …” said (F/N) softly. The memory of Lily telling her that Moran had carried her to the hospital wing, when she fainted during her Divination N.E.W.T, stung sharply.

“Naturally. If nothing else, I would be doing my house a disservice if I didn’t do my best by you. You’re the only one who can contact me like this, of course,”

“Your house?”

Moran chuckled. “I was in Hufflepuff. Maybe that wasn’t as obvious as I thought …”

(F/N) suddenly found herself grinning. “Actually, it suits you. I thought you might have been in Ravenclaw, but now I can’t picture you being anything else,”

Moran gave (F/N) the sort of smile that could weaken anyone’s knees. She was then visited by the idea that, if she was the only person capable of contacting Moran in the afterlife, that meant that he could be some sort of …

“Spirit guardian,” said Moran knowingly.

“Do you have to read my mind, though?” (F/N) asked, feeling a little put-out.

Moran looked slightly abashed. “I’m sorry. It was relatively easy to read people when I was alive. Now it’s almost as if you’re speaking aloud,”

(F/N) felt bad for telling him off. “It’s okay. I know it’s instinctive,”

“Well, at any rate …” Moran went on, putting his hands in his pockets and gazing off into the Forest. “… you could view me as such. A guardian, I mean. Or a … guide?”

“Is that what you want to be?”

“What I _want_ is to help you. To help you understand, to learn, to adapt … I want to help you _move on,”_

“Does that mean I won’t see you anymore, though? Eventually, that is …”

Moran gave her a soft, searching and sympathetic look. “I’ll always be here if you come calling,” he said. “But a word of caution, if I may …?”

(F/N) looked at him expectantly.

“Please don’t replace the Potion with seances. Dumbledore would tell you that it does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, but _I_ can tell you that it is very easy to lose yourself in dreams like these. Even easier than normal ones. Remember that, although there may be people you wish to talk to again – people you miss very much – there are still people in the world of the living who are just as important, and who need you as much as you need them,”

“How can I stop myself, though, if people like us can just ‘slip away’?”

“You’ll learn to control it, sooner or later. But the more frequently you come here, the more likely it is that you’ll come on purpose, and that is when you will start to pay for it,”

“But why would I pay the price if I can’t bring you back to life? The Hounds killed you, didn’t they?”

Moran nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps coming to see me won’t be quite as bad as if you tried to contact somebody else,” he said mistily. “But to be on the safe side, if I can sense you trying to reach me, I’ll … meet you halfway, as it were,”

“Do you … er … have any advice for me now? For moving past this rut I’m in?”

Moran’s eyes glittered, and (F/N) was suddenly given the impression that he knew everything that had happened over the last week to cause her low mood. “Have you tried getting to know yourself again? There is no harm in being ‘just (F/N)’,”

She hadn’t noticed before, but he was almost at the treeline. She had been following him to it, but something told her that once he passed beyond it, she would not be able to go with him. A shiver trembled up her spine; she was looking at something of a gateway. She had, in her sleep, travelled beyond the mortal realm and to a sort of ‘bridge’ between life and death.

Beyond the physical barriers thrown up by the waypoint itself was the true realm of the dead.

Moran had seen her looking, and heard her thoughts as clearly as if they were his own. “You can’t follow me there, (F/N),” he said firmly, but gently. “You can’t follow any of us there. You’ve been there before, of course, but you are alive now,”

“Do you have to go now?” (F/N) asked him sadly.

“Unfortunately, yes,” he said quietly. “As I said, it won’t hurt you to come here, if by accident, but it won’t make for a very refreshing night’s sleep. It requires a lot of energy on your part, so I must let you ‘get back’ to sleep,”

“Wait, do spirits … leech off the living when they’re here?”

Moran chuckled again. “No, because we belong here. Just as the dead require energy to manifest in the world of the living, the living require energy to visit the dead,”

That made perfect sense to (F/N). She nodded and sighed, realising it was truly time to go.

“I’ll see you again, I promise,” said Moran, wading into the long, dark grass beyond the treeline. “Sleep well,”

(F/N) didn’t get a chance to bid him goodbye, or even thank him for his advice and company. She woke up with a start, her heart pounding noisily against her ribs, and panting as though she had been chased from that eerie place. Her alarm clock read half past four in the morning, but just as she turned away from it and settled down again, her head began to spin.

_He wasn’t kidding when he said it required a lot of energy …_ (F/N) thought sleepily. She felt as though she hadn’t slept in days. She was so tempted to go back, to try and call Moran again, or maybe even someone else, but she took his words to heart. Moran had never led her astray, and he would know that world better than most of the people she could discuss it with.

Before falling asleep for good, (F/N) replayed Moran’s most practical advice in her head: _“There is no harm in being ‘just (F/N)’,”_ And so, she thought, she would do just that. She would find herself again, and even if she was prone – and open – to falling in love again, she would also find a way of being comfortable by herself.

The slumber that soon enveloped her was one of the most welcoming she had ever experienced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you lovely people enjoyed this chapter! I'm so sorry about the angsty part, but it's all part of my big plan. Besides, I kind of felt like this is exactly the sort of thing Remus would do if he was worried about someone. 
> 
> Anyway, I'm working on the next chapter(s) now, so stay tuned!
> 
> \- SooperChicken


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